LIFE 


HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW. 

EDITED  BY  REV.  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW. 

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"  Altogether  the  most  fascinating  book  that  has  been  pub 
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"  One  thinks  of  the  gentle  scholar  as  a  man  who  can  never 
have  made  an  enemy  or  lost  a  friend ;  and  we  lay  down  his 
autobiography  (for  such  the  book  can  fairly  be  called)  with  a 
feeling  that  in  these  posthumous  pages  he  has  opened  a  view 
of  his  own  soul  as  beautiful  as  the  creations  of  his  fancy."  — 
New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  publication  of  these  noble 
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a  pure  and  great  poet,  which  is  much,  but  also  a  pure  and 
great  man,  which  is  more."  —  The  Beacon  (Boston). 

"These  volumes  tell  the  story  of  his  life  with  exquisite 
taste;  they  also  unfold  a  panorama  of  the  literary  history  of 
America,  and  are  among  the  rare  and  monumental  books  of 
the  present  century."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


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TICKNOR  AND  COMPANY,  BOSTON. 


FINAL    MEMORIALS 


OF 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 


Copyright,  1887, 

BY    TlCKNOR    AND     COMPANY. 


A II  rights  reserved. 


Elnitifrsttn 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFACE. 


THE  Life  of  Mr.  Longfellow  by  the  present  Edi 
tor  is  complete  in  itself  ;  but  the  story  of  the  last 
fifteen  years  was  not  given  in  it  with  the  same 
fulness  of  detail  as  the  earlier  portions,  through 
fear  of  unduly  increasing  the  size  of  the  work. 
As  it  was,  it  is  very  large.  Nevertheless  some 
readers  have  expressed  a  desire  for  more  ;  and  to 
meet  their  wish  —  and  for  the  reading  only  of 
such  as  they  —  the  Editor  has,  with  some  reluc 
tance,  consented  to  prepare  the  present  volume. 
It  contains  the  Journals  and  Correspondence  of  the 
years  mentioned  above,  with  many  letters  of  an 
earlier  date  for  which  room  was  not  found  in  the 
Life,  besides  some  which  have  but  lately  come 
into  the  Editor's  hands.  He  has  been  very  glad 
of  the  permission  to  include  the  tributes  and  rem 
iniscences  by  various  hands,  which  present  many 
traits  and  incidents  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  character 
and  life,  and  show  something  of  what  he  was  by 
the  impression  which  he  left  upon  those  who  came 
into  his  company.  To  all  whose  work  he  has 
thus  used  to  add  interest  to  his  book,  the  Editor 


IV  PREFACE. 

returns  his  thanks.  He  is  still  obliged  to  regret 
the  absence  of  any  letters  to  Mr.  Hawthorne, 
Mr.  Felton,  and  Lord  Tennyson. 

The  book  begins  with  two  fragments  from  early 
Journals,  —  the  first  going  back  to  the  first  youth 
ful  visit  to  Europe.  An  Appendix,  intended  for 
the  Life,  closes  the  book,  with  a  Bibliography 
reprinted,  with  revision,  from  the  Literary  World, 
by  kind  permission  'of  its  editor,  followed  by 
a  chapter  of  Genealogy,  and  some  miscellaneous 
matter. 

Among  the  illustrations  are  two  new  portraits, 
—  of  earliest  and  latest  years,  —  a  view  of  the 
poet's  study  in  Craigie  House,  and  another  of  the 
bust  in  its  place  in  the  Poets'  Corner  of  West 
minster  Abbey,  from  a  recent  photograph. 

There  remains  yet  one  book  to  be  written,  as  it 
is  hoped,  by  some  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Long 
fellow,  —  a  compact  Life,  for  which  this  volume 
and  its  predecessors  may  be  memoires  pour 
servir ;  but  as  far  as  the  present  Editor  is  con 
cerned,  these  memorials  are  final. 

S.  L. 

CRAIGIE  HOUSE, 

April  12,  1887. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1829.     1835.    1836 .     .  1 

II.  CORRESPONDENCE.     1837-1850 10 

in.  CORRESPONDENCE.     1852-1860 33 

IV.  CORRESPONDENCE.     1860-1865 65 

V.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1866 78 

VI.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1867-1868 91 

VII.  LETTERS  AND  JOURNAL.     1868-1869 108 

VIII.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1870 128 

IX.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1871 150 

X.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1872 180 

XI.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1873-1874 202 

XII.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1875-1876 229 

XIII.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1877 253 

XIV.  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.     1878-1879 269 

XV.  THE  LAST  YEARS.     1880-1882 293 

XVI.  REMINISCENCES 308 

XVII.  OTHER  REMINISCENCES 337 

XVni.  TRIBUTES 354 

XIX.  TABLE-TALK 372 

XX.  FRAGMENTS  OF  VERSE                                            .  383 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.  BELATED  LETTEKS 388 

XXII.  THE  STUDY  AT  CRAIGIE  HOUSE 401 

XXIII.  THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  .  407 


APPENDIX. 

I.   GENEALOGY 415 

II.  BIBLIOGRAPHY 421 

III.  HONORARIUM 435 

IV.  A  JEU  D'ESPRIT 436 

V.    THE  FIRST  CLOSE  OF  THE  '  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP  '  .  437 

VI.   THE  Two  INKSTANDS 438 

VII.   THE  MOTTO  440 


INDEX 443 


ILLUSTKATIONS. 


PAGE 

PORTRAIT,  ETCHED  BY  S.  A.  SCHOFF,  FROM  PHOTO 
GRAPH,  1868 Frontispiece 

PORTRAIT  FROM  CRAYON  BY  SAMUEL  LAWRENCE,  1854    .      44 


VIGNETTE:  FROM  A  PENCIL-DRAWING  BY  MR.  LONG 
FELLOW    Titlepage 

PORTRAIT:  FACSIMILE  FROM  A  PENCIL-SKETCH,  1835  .     .  8 

IN  THE  STUDY:  FROM  A  PENCIL-SKETCH,  1847    ....  20 

CRAIGIE  HOUSE,  FROM  THE  WEST 122 

THE    "VILLAGE    SMITHY:"    FROM    A    PEN-SKETCH    BY 

MR.  LONGFELLOW 284 

FACSIMILE   OF   A  PART  OF  THE   SONNET  ON   PRESIDENT 

GARFIELD 302 

CRAIGIE  HOUSE,  FROM  THE  NORTH 346 

THE  STUDY,  CRAIGIE  HOUSE 401 

IN  THE  POETS'  CORNER,  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  ....  408 

THE  TWO  INKSTANDS 438,  439 


MEMORIALS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

JOURNAL   AND   LETTERS. 
1829.     1835.     1836. 

May  9,  1829.  Left  Utrecht  in  the  diligence  for  Diis- 
seldorf,  passing  through  Nirnwegen,  Cleves,  and  Cleveld. 
Dined  at  the  last-mentioned  place.  An  old  Swiss  woman 
in  the  coach,  a  giantess,  dressed  in  black,  with  a  white 
woollen  cloak.  She  insisted  upon  my  accompanying  her 
to  find  an  eating-house  where  she  might  dine.  I  was 
exceedingly  averse  to  this  proceeding,  but  there  was  no 
avoiding  it ;  so  forth  we  sallied,  —  a  fine  Don  Quixote  for 
so  sweet  a  Dulcinea !  I  think  I  never  beheld  such  a  tout 
ensemble  as  the  good  old  lady  presented ;  for  besides  the 
white  woollen  hood  and  cloak,  she  wore  a  pair  of  huge 
postilion's  boots,  in  which  she  strode  along  the  pavement 
like  the  brazen  man  of  Ehodes.  The  exhibition  was  highly 
ludicrous,, —  so  thought  I,  and  so  thought  the  good  people 
of  Cleveld ;  for  as  the  giantess  tramped  along  in  her  seven- 
league  boots,  "  septingenta  millia  passuum  in  uno  ambu- 
lans,"  the  town  began  to  stir.  First  one  head  popped  out 
of  a  window,  then  in  again,  then  returned  with  a  reinforce 
ment  of  some  half-dozen  laughing  faces.  Crowds  of  gig 
gling  girls  collected  at  the  corners  and  the  doors,  for  it 
was  Sunday,  —  of  course  a  play-day  in  the  Catholic 

l 


2  JOURNAL.  [1829. 

town  of  Cleveld.  The  horror  of  my  own  situation  burst 
upon  me  at  once.  I  made  a  desperate  effort ;  at  one  fell 
swoop  I  cut  round  the  nearest  corner,  and  rana  as  if  for 
life. 

I  soon  got  back  to  the  place  from  which  we  started  on 
our  pilgrimage.  If  I  live  to  the  age  of  threescore  and 
ten  I  shall  never  forget  the  sensations  which  passed 
through  my  heart  when  I  quietly  seated  myself  in  the 
back  room  of  a  little  eating-house  at  the  corner  of  the 
principal  street.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  delivered  from 
"the  body  of  death." 

The  thoughts  of  dinner  soon  chased  from  my  mind  all 
recollection  of  my  recent  disaster.  I  forgot  the  white 
woollen  riding-hood ;  even  the  sound  of  popular  applause 
was  dying  away  upon  my  mind's  ear.  I  strolled  into  an 
adjoining  room  after  dinner,  which  looked  out  upon  the 
principal  street.  A  little  knot  of  smokers  stood  at  the 
door.  I  was  just  lighting  my  pipe,  when  one  remarked  to 
a  friend  at  his  elbow,  "  Hast  du  das  Spectakel  gesehen  ?  " 
(Hast  thou  seen  the  show  ?)  I  paused  to  catch  the  reply, 
for  my  heart  misgave  me,  and  the  "  fidibus  "  fell  from  my 
hand. 

"Was  fiir  ein  Spectakel?"  (What  show?)  asked  the 
other. 

"  Es  kam  eine  alte  Frau  vorbey,  mit  einem  sehr  sonder- 
bar  und  auslandisch  Kleidun»." 

O 

And  so  he  told  the  "  magna  pars  fui "  of  the  old  woman's 
appearance  in  the  town,  and  the  alarm  occasioned  thereby. 
More  people  came  in  just  at  the  close  of  the  narration ;  and 
catching  the  last  words,  the  whole  was  told  and  retold  a 
dozen  times.  I  mingled  in  the  crowd,  tried  to  look  uncon 
cerned,  and  every  time  the  tale  was  repeated,  laughed  as 
heartily  as  if  it  were  all  new  to  me.  In  this  way  I  passed 
unsuspected,  till  the  landlord  espied  me.  I  then  felt  that 
my  hour  was  come. 


1829.]  JOURNAL.  3 

"  She  came  here  this  morning  with  that  gentleman," 
said  the  landlord  with  a  smile,  at  the  same  time  designat 
ing  me.  My  situation  was  awfully  comical,  for  all  turned 
and  stared  at  me.  I  shrank  like  the  leaf  of  a  sensitive- 
plant.  The  old  woman  had  pressed  me  into  the  service 
of  attending  her.  I  had  never  been  very  proud  of  that 
service,  and  now  I  "  blushed  to  find  it  fame." 

I  found  it  necessary  to  speak ;  and  after  the  usual  pre 
liminary  hums !  and  ha's !  was  beginning  to  tell  what  I 
knew  of  the  mysterious  stranger,  when  a  distant  murmur, 
like  the  tide  along  the  sea-beach,  struck  my  ear. 

"  Here  she  comes  ! "  was  the  cry.  "  Here  she  comes  ! " 
echoed  from  room  to  room.  "Here  she  comes  ! "  said  I  to 
myself  in  an  agony.  "  Confound  her ! "  I  was  about  to 
add,  —  but  no,  my  better  feelings  got  the  mastery ;  I  felt 
ashamed  of  my  own  weakness. 

There  was  a  general  rush  to  the  door ;  the  murmur  be 
came  louder  and  louder ;  and  urged  on  by  a  painful  curios 
ity,  I  got  into  the  press  and  stationed  myself  just  inside 
the  door.  The  reception  of  Lafayette  in  America  was 
nothing  to  the  pageant  which  now  burst  upon  my  view. 
A  dense  mass  of  people  —  old  and  young,  men,  women, 
and  children,  with  caps  and  shawls  and  Sunday  finery 
flapping  in  the  wind  —  came  moving  steadily  up  the 
street  and  rolling  onward  irresistibly  like  the  sea ;  while 
above  all  rose  the  majestic  form  of  the  "  alte  Frau  "  with 
her  white  riding-hood,  sailing  like  a  ship  before  the  wind 
with  all  sails  set,  and  borne  onward  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  noisy  waves. 

The  motley  pageant  soon  came  opposite  to  the  spot 
where  I  stood ;  it  was  not  unlike  the  escort  which  always 
attends  the  egress  of  the  docile  elephant  from  a  country 
town,  when,  after  having  danced  and  sung  and  eaten  ginger 
bread,  and  squirted  meal  and  water  through  his  trunk  at 
the  admiring  audience,  he  takes  leave  of  the  town  amid 


4  JOURNAL.  [1835. 

the  plaudits  of  a  rising  generation,  covered  with  glory  and 
a  dirty  blanket,  swings  his  ponderous  limbs  towards  some 
neighboring  village,  to  be  again  the  seven-days  wonder  of 
another  little  world. 

The  old  woman  walked  on  with  a  dignified  step  and  an 
elevated  head.  She  seemed  to  look  round  indignantly  on 
the  crowd.  Her  hood  had  got  a  little  disordered ;  the  cap 
was  awry,  and  a  lock  of  grisly  hair  stole  out  upon  her 
forehead  to  dally  with  the  wind.  As  her  quick  gray  eye 
glanced  rapidly  around,  as  if  in  search  of  some  one,  I  felt 
rebuked  and  penitent. 

When  I  saw  the  "  alte  Frau  "  thus  followed  and  hooted 
at  by  the  people,  I  grew  deeply  indignant,  and  was  button 
ing  up  my  coat  in  order  to  plunge  into  the  muddy  tide 
and  rescue  her.  But  a  second  thought  checked  me.  I 
entered  into  a  dialogue  with  my  own  conscience  upon  the 
subject.  Was  I  the  cause  of  the  old  woman's  trouble  ? 
No.  Could  I  have  prevented  it  ?  No.  Can  I  now  remedy 
it?  No. 

As  I  was  quietly  laying  this  flattering  unction  to  my 
soul,  the  postilion  blew  his  horn  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street.  I  saw  the  form  of  the  "  alte  Fran  "  rise  above 
the  heads  of  the  multitude,  as  if  lifted  up  upon  their 
shoulders ;  it  sank  into  the  open  door  of  the  Post-wagen, 
and  disappeared.  The  door  was  closed,  the  postilion 
mounted,  and  the  coach  dashed  through  the  crowd  like 
mad.  I  had  taken  my  last  look  of  the  "  alte  Frau "  of 
Nimwegen. 


STOCKHOLM,  July  28,  1835. 

It  has  been,  and  is,  a  rainy  day.  In  the  morning  a 
thunder-storm.  The  lightning  struck  the  steeple  of  Eid- 
darholms-kyrkan,  and  the  alarm  of  fire  was  given  by 
the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  discharge  of  cannon.  All 


1835.]  JOURNAL.  5 

Stockholm  was  abroad,  with  gens  d'armes  to  keep  order, 
when  I  reached  the  spot.  A  wreath  of  smoke  was  curling 
from  the  top  of  the  steeple,  which  looked  like  a  pastille 
burning.  The  fire  was  soon  extinguished. 

29th.  The  bells  have  been  tolling  solemnly  all  night 
long.  The  fire  is  not  yet  extinguished.  About  noon  yes 
terday  it  was  supposed  to  be  so,  and  a  band  of  music 
paraded  the  streets,  as  is  the  custom  here.  But  all  too 
soon;  for  about  five  in  the  afternoon  a  new  alarm  was 
given.  I  went  out  to  witness  the  scene.  A  small  lam 
bent  flame  was  playing  slowly  round  the  upper  part  of 
the  spire,  below  the  ball  and  cross.  It  gained  rapidly; 
the  sheathing  of  copper  yielded,  the  point  of  the  spire 
bent  forward,  broke,  and  fell,  a  huge  blazing  torch, 
through  the  air,  then  struck  the  roof,  and  then  the  pave 
ment  below  with  a  loud  clang.  The  fire  seemed  now  to 
subside ;  but  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  Farther  down 
a  puff  of  smoke  came  out,  a  circle  of  flame  played  round 
the  steeple,  and  the  conflagration  commenced  again  with 
greater  power.  Here  and  there  a  tongue  of  flame,  here 
and  there  a  wreath  of  smoke,  shot  forth,  and  the  steeple 
was  blazing  from  its  open  mouth  like  the  chimney  of  a 
Manchester  factory.  Now  and  then  a  sheet  of  copper 
was  loosened  and  fell  to  the  ground.  Then  more  of  the 
spire  collapsed,  and  came  rolling  and  flaming  through  the 
air.  Every  moment  the  spectacle  became  more  beautiful, 
the  smoke  more  dense,  the  flame  more  bright.  From 
every  chink  came  a  blue  curl,  encircling  the  spire,  and 
wafted  away  by  the  wind.  A  part  of  the  copper  had 
fallen  athwart  the  mouth  of  the  blazing  furnace ;  a  rafter 
fell  outward,  and  hung  there  like  a  cross  thick  set  with 
rubies.  The  descending  footsteps  of  the  fire  were  visible 
from  without  as  it  glanced  from  between  the  plates  of 
copper  and  flashed  from  the  open  windows  in  the  side  of 
the  spire,  carrying  post  after  post  with  its  flaming  sword. 


6  JOURNAL.  [1835. 

About  half  way  down  the  spire  were  four  large  oval 
windows  looking  toward  the  four  corners  of  the  heavens. 
When  the  fire  reached  these  it  burst  forth  with  redoubled 
energy.  The  pent-up  names  glared  brighter  and  shot  up 
more  fiercely.  At  intervals  burning  rafters  fell,  and  again 
the  molten  copper  yielded,  and  the  spire  sank  sullenly 
inward,  "shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll." 

The  sun  set,  and  the  long  twilight  came  slowly  on ; 
and  still  the  fire  burned,  and  the  crowds  in  the  streets 
and  the  market-places  and  on  the  quays  and  the  bridges 
looked  sadly  into  each  other's  faces.  Some  wept,  and 
hid  their  faces  in  their  hands ;  others  shook  their  heads 
and  said,  "We  shall  look  no  more  upon  Eiddarholms 
Church." 

The  fire  had  now  reached  that  part  of  the  spire  which, 
spreading  out  like  the  mouth  of  a  trumpet,  rested  upon 
the  square  tower  of  the  belfry.  Here  the  flames  grew  ten 
fold,  and  gleamed  through  like  summer  lightning.  At 
length  a  crackling  sound  came,  and  the  copper  sheath 
parted  below  and  slid  down  like  the  skin  of  a  ripe  fig, 
leaving  the  skeleton  of  the  rafters  a  scaffold  of  fire,  with 
a  high  pyramid  of  flame  flaring  southward.  This  fell  ere 
long,  scattering  a  thousand  firebrands  through  the  air,  and 
leaving  the  square  tower  standing,  like  an  altar  upon 
which  a  great  sacrifice  had  been  offered.  The  smoke  now 
began  to  pour  forth  from  a  little  spire  at  the  farther  ex 
tremity  of  the  church.  The  fire  had  found  its  way  under 
the  main  roof.  Ere  long  a  flame  darted  up  through  the 
copper  of  the  roof,  disappeared,  darted  up  again,  and 
spread,  and  the  smoke  became  more  dense  and  the  fire 
stronger.  The  roof  near  the  main  tower  bent  and  sank, 
and  the  flames  burst  forth  with  dazzling  brightness.  How 
strange  looked  the  upturned  faces  in  the  Square  of  Gus- 
tavus  Vasa  in  that  glare  !  Gradually  the  whole  roof  sank  ; 
but  there  was  no  light  from  the  windows  of  the  church. 


1836.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  7 

The  inner  roof,  of  vaulted  stone,  had  saved  the  tombs 
of  the  kings.  Without,  the  flames  still  raged,  spreading 
to  the  dome  and  spire  of  Gustav  Adolf's  chapel.  The 
chapel  of  Charles  XII.  escaped  the  conflagration,  the  wind 
bearing  the  flames  from  it.  There  it  stood,  dark  and 
strong  against  the  burning  mass.  I  almost  expected  to 
see  the  form  of  the  stern  old  warrior  arise  from  its  tomb 
and  still  the  raging  fire! 

King  Bernadotte  was  at  Eosersberg  all  this  time,  but 
came  posting  to  town  about  three  in  the  morning,  and 
drove  straightway  to  the  scene.  He  is  said  to  have  been 
enraged  that  the  church  was  suffered  to  burn,  and  said 
they  should  have  shot  off  the  spire  at  the  beginning  with 
a  cannon-ball. 


To  G.  W.  Greene  (in  Italy). 

HEIDELBERG,  February  11,  1836. 

.  .  .  Let  me  persuade  you  [to  write  a  History  of  Italian 
Literature].  Just  this  niche  seems  to  be  left  in  the  wall, 
into  which  you  must  put  just  this  statue.  The  sooner 
you  are  about  it  the  better.  And  here  allow  me  to  sug 
gest  a  plan  which  I  am  myself  pursuing  in  collecting  and 
arranging  materials  for  a  Literary  History  of  the  Middle 
Ages  (which  you  must  remember  is  a  secret,  —  not  the 
plan,  but  my  proposed  work).  I  have  a  blank  book,  which 
I  divide  into  centuries.  Under  each  century  I  write  down 
the  names  of  the  authors  who  then  flourished,  when  they 
were  born  and  died,  if  known,  what  works  they  wrote, 
where  their  works,  or  extracts  from  them,  may  be  found, 
and  what  editions  are  best.  This  is  done  in  as  few  words 
as  possible,  prose  and  poetry  being  separated.  At  the  be 
ginning  of  the  blank  book  is  a  list  of  works  cited,  the  full 
title  being  given,  with  date  and  form  very  exact.  This 


8  LETTERS.  [1836. 

saves  the  trouble  of  writing  and  re-writing  as  you  go 
along.  The  name  standing  alone  shows  that  the  entire 
work  or  poem  is  to  be  found  on  the  page  noted.  When 
only  an  extract  is  given,  I  say,  "Extract,"  etc.  This 
avoids  all  confusion.  I  have  already  accumulated  six 
centuries  of  German  literature  in  this  way.1  I  hardly 
know  what  put  this  idea  into  my  head ;  it  is  one  of  the 
most  useful  that  ever  found  its  way  thither.  The  ad 
vantages  of  this  plan  are  obvious.  You  have  thus  the 
whole  field  of  your  labor  before  you.  In  a  moment  you 
can  put  your  finger  upon  anybody  and  anything  you  want. 
If  you  think  the  plan  worth  adoption,  be  careful  to  leave 
blank  pages  and  spaces  enough  between  the  paragraphs 
for  corrections  and  additions.  I  am  sorry  you  should  feel 
any  misgivings  as  to  your  success  in  the  literary  world. 
Believe  me,  your  love  for  literary  labor  is  a  sure  guarantee 
of  success.  Go  on  quietly  and  without  anxiety,  enjoying 
the  present  in  the  blessing  of  a  mind  contented  and  self- 
possessed,  and  you  will  wake  up  some  morning  and  find 
yourself  famous,  as  Byron  says  he  did.  All  this  good 
advice  is  sufficiently  prosaic,  and  will  remind  you  of  that 
class  of  books  which  goes  under  the  title,  "  Letters  to  a 
Younger  Brother,"  etc., — very  didactic  and  very  dull.  You 
must  remember  I  only  suggest  plans  for  your  consideration. 
I  feel  a  lively  interest  in  your  success,  and  am  anxious 
that  you  should  so  commence  your  Literary  History  of 
Italy  as  to  waste  no  time  nor  labor.  About  my  proposed 
visit  to  Italy  I  can  say  nothing  now.  How  ardently  I 
desire  such  a  visit,  you  can  imagine.  If  the  thing  is  pos 
sible,  it  shall  be  done.  God  bless  you  ! 

1  This  '  Syllabus '  was  printed  in  the  (Xe\v  York)  Eclectic  Re 
view  in  1841.  Other  occupations  prevented  the  plan  of  a  History 
from  being  carried  out. 


FROM    A    PENCIL-SKETCH. 


1836.]  LETTEftS.  9 

From  George  Ticknor.1 

DRESDEN,  February  19,  1836. 

.  .  .  Our  dates  from  home  are  to  January  6  direct; 
but  through  Dr.  Julius2  to  the  16th,  the  day  he  left 
New  York.  He  met  with  a  great  loss  there  in  the  great 
fire,  —  seven  large  boxes  of  books,  documents,  and  manu 
scripts  which  he  had  collected  from  all  quarters  of  the 
country ;  among  others  one  large  chest  of  very  curious 
matters  relating  to  our  Indians,  including  a  manuscript  of 
Heckewelder  which  he  found  at  Bethlehem.  .  .  . 

Of  news  that  will  interest  you  more  nearly,  I  do  not 
know  that  I  can  tell  you  much.  .  .  .  Eev.  Dr.  Channing 
has  published  a  little  volume  on  Slavery,  written,  I  un 
derstand,  with  all  his  accustomed  eloquence  and  energy, 
but  which  does  not  seem  to  have  been  regarded  as  a  word 
in  season.  It  will  do  him,  however,  none  the  less  credit 
in  Europe,  where  his  name  stands  higher  than  I  expected 
to  find  it,  much  as  I  have  been  accustomed  to  admire  him. 
My  bookseller  here  told  me  the  other  day  that  his  works 
are  very  often  inquired  after ;  and  a  letter  was  brought  to 
me  recently  from  the  Duchess  of  Anhalt-Dessau,  asking 
how  she  could  get  them.  Miss  Martineau,  as  you  have 
perhaps  heard,  attended  an  anti-slavery  meeting  of  ladies 
in  Boston,  and  made  some  remarks  which  have  caused  her 
to  be  a  good  deal  neglected  by  society  there. 

...  I  have  written  you  this  hurried  letter  merely  that 
I  might  get  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you  again.     I 
pray  you  do  not  let  me  be  disappointed  or  wait  long. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

GEOKGE  TICKNOR. 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  was  at  this  time  in  Heidelberg. 

2  Dr.  N.  H.  Julius,  who  after  his  return  to  Germany  published 
some  books  on  America. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

COHKESPONDENCK 
1837-1850. 

To  Madame  de  Sailly  (in  Paris). 

BOSTON,  November  14,  1837. 

I  beg  leave  to  recall  myself  to  your  remembrance  by 
presenting  my  near  friend,  Mr.  Suinner,  who  will  pass 
some  months  in  your  gay  metropolis,  pour  son  plaisir. 

I  trust  you  have  not  wholly  forgotten  Auteuil  and  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  I  visited  them  not  long  ago,  —  in  the 
summer  of  1836  ;  but  alas,  how  changed!  The  maison  de 
sante  (excuse  me  for  calling  up  that  doleful  place  to  your 
memory)  is  still  standing,  and  is  still  a  maison  de  sante. 
But  no  Mme  de  Sailly  is  there,  no  M.  Lambin,  no  dumb 
man  from  Nantes  with  a  slate  and  a  patient  wife ;  and,  in 
fine,  no  Nigaud.  The  garden  still  exists,  and  the  ice 
house  where  they  deposited  the  dead  body  of  the  English 
colonel  who  died  mad.  Sweet  recollections  of  Auteuil ! 
Why,  it  made  me  sad  for  five  minutes  ;  after  which,  things 
went  on  as  usual. 

I  searched  Paris,  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to  Pere  la 
Chaise,  to  find  you,  but  all  in  vain ;  and  this  made  me  sad 
for  five  days,  —  that  is,  a  quarter  of  the  time  I  was  in  Paris. 
I  hope  my  friend  will  be  more  fortunate. 

From  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

BOSTON,  May  16,  1839. 

DEAK  LONGFELLOW,  —  Why  do  you  never  come  to  see 
me,  or  at  least  make  inquiry  after  me,  either  in  the  Cus- 


1840.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  11 

torn-House  or  at  No.  8  Somerset  Place  ?  I  wanted  to  talk 
about  a  great  many  things,  most  of  which  are  now  past 
talking  about ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  should  still  be  glad  to 
see  you.  And  I  have  done  nothing  yet  about  publishing 
a  new  volume  of  Tales,  and  should  like  to  take  counsel 
with  you  on  that  matter.  If  I  write  a  preface  it  will  be 
to  bid  farewell  to  literature;  for,  as  a  literary  man,  niy 
new  occupations  entirely  break  me  up. 

If  you  come  to  Boston  next  Saturday,  call  on  me.  Very 
probably  you  may  not  find  me,  for  Uncle  Sam  is  rather 
despotic  as  to  the  disposal  of  my  time ;  but  I  shall  be 
grateful  for  your  good-will. 

Yours  truly, 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE. 

From  N.  P.  Willis. 

GLEXMARY,  September  15,  1840. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  had  thought  it  probable 
that  I  should  see  you  here  this  summer.  I  was  sorry  to 
get  the  assurance  that  you  were  not  to  fly  from  your  orbit 
of  east  wind.  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  That 
same  east  wind,  by  the  way,  was  the  reason  I  did  not  see 
you  while  I  was  in  Boston ;  for  I  devoted  one  afternoon 
to  a  drive  to  Cambridge,  and  on  heading  round  from 
Brookline  the  pestilent  Use  met  us  full  on  the  quarter, 
and  Mrs.  Willis  declared  she  could  not  stand  it.  So  I  up 
helm  for  my  sister's  house  in  Brighton,  and  we  finished 
the  evening  over  a  fire.  I  confess  that  I  see  everything, 
even  my  friends,  through  my  bilious  spectacles  in  Boston. 
I  do  not  enjoy  anything  or  anybody  within  its  abominable 
periphery  of  hills  and  salt-marshes.  Even  you  seem  not 
what  you  would  at  Glenmary ;  and  I  prefer  Sumner  sea 
sick  in  a  head-wind  in  the  English  Channel,  to  Sumner 
with  his  rosiest  gills  and  reddest  waistcoat  in  Boston. 


12  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1840. 

By  the  way,  how  is  our  agreeable  friend ;  and  have  the 
nankeen-trousered  Bostonians  yet  begun  to  qualify  their 
admiration  of  him  ?  I  consider  his  advent  a  kind  of  ex- 
perimentum  crucis ;  and  if  they  do  turn  and  abuse  him, 
they  will  certainly  go  to  perdition  for  illiberality.  There 
is  no  excuse  for  disliking  Sumner.  He  bears  his  honors 
so  meekly,  and  is  so  thoroughly  a  good  fellow,  that  if  they 
do  not  send  him  to  Congress  and  love  him  forever,  I  will 
deny  my  cradle. 

I  am  going  to  New  York  in  a  week  or  two,  and  one  of 
my  bringings  back  will  be  your  Voices  of  the  Night,  of 
which  I  have  only  read  the  extracts  in  the  newspapers. 
I  see  perfectly  the  line  you  are  striking  out  for  a  renown, 
and  it  will  succeed.  Your  severe,  chaste,  lofty-thoughted 
style  of  poetry  will  live  a  great  deal  longer  than  that 
which  would  be  more  salable  and  popular  now;  and  if 
you  preferred  the  money  and  the  hurrah,  I  should  be  as 
sorry  as  I  am  to  be  obliged  to  do  so  myself.  Still,  I  think 
you  are  not  quite  merchant  enough  with  your  poems  after 
they  are  written,  and  about  this  I  talked  a  great  deal  witli 
Sumner,  who  will  disgorge  for  you. 

How,  and  what  fashion  of  Benedick,  is  Felton  ?  Him 
I  should  like  to  see  too,  on  an  unprejudiced  potato-hill,— 
out  of  Boston,  that  is  to  say ;  and  next  year,  if  I  am  here, 
I  will  try  what  persuasion  will  do  to  get  him  and  his  wife, 
you  and  Sumner  and  Cleveland,  at  Glenmary,  in  literary 
congress.  I  have  built  a  new  slice  to  my  house,  and  have 
plenty  of  room  for  you  all.  Will  you,  seriously,  talk  of 
this  and  try  to  shape  it  out  ?  Tell  Felton  I  was  highly 
gratified  and  obliged  by  the  kind  and  flattering  review  of 
my  poems  in  the  North  American.  It  has  done  me,  1 
doubt  not,  great  service ;  ca  vent  dire  I  can  make  better 
bargains  with  editors  and  publishers,  —  about  all  I  think 
worth  minding  in  the  way  of  popular  opinion.  Will  you 
write  me  a  long  letter  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  your 


1841.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  13 

own  literary  position,  and  whether  a  blast  from  "  Under  the 
Bridge  "  would  make  your  topsails  belly  ? l  I  will  express 
all  the  admiration  I  feel  for  your  sweet  poems,  if  you  care 
a  rush  for  it,  —  indeed,  I  think  I  shall  do  it  whether  you 
like  it  or  no.  God  bless  you,  dear  Longfellow !  Believe  me 
Yours  very  faithfully, 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 

From  E.  A.  Poe. 

PHILADELPHIA,  May  3,  1841. 

DEAE  SIR,  —  Mr.  George  E.  Graham,  proprietor  of  Gra 
ham's  Magazine,  a  monthly  journal  published  in  this 
city  and  edited  by  myself,  desires  me  to  beg  of  you  the 
honor  of  your  contribution  to  its  pages.  Upon  the  prin 
ciple  that  we  seldom  obtain  what  we  very  anxiously  covet, 
I  confess  that  I  have  but  little  hope  of  inducing  you  to 
write  for  us,  —  and,  to  say  truth,  I  fear  that  Mr.  Graham 
would  have  opened  the  negotiation  much  better  in  his 
own  person,  for  I  have  no  reason  to  think  myself  favor 
ably  known  to  you;  but  the  attempt  was  to  be  made,  and 
I  make  it. 

I  should  be  overjoyed  if  we  could  get  from  you  an 
article  each  month,  —  either  poetry  or  prose,  —  length  and 
subject  a  discretion.  In  respect  to  terms,  we  would  gladly 
offer  you  carte  blanche ;  and  the  periods  of  payment 
should  also  be  made  to  suit  yourself. 

In  conclusion,  I  cannot  refrain  from  availing  myself  of 
this,  the  only  opportunity  I  may  ever  have,  to  assure  the 
author  of  the  '  Hymn  to  the  Night,'  of  the  '  Beleaguered 
City,'  and  of  the  '  Skeleton  in  Armor,'  of  the  fervent  ad 
miration  with  which  his  genius  has  inspired  me;  and 

1  Mr.  Willis  was  writing  at  this  time  for  the  New  York  Mirror 
a  series  of  articles  called  "Letters  froin  under  a  Bridge,"  afterward 
published  in  a  volume  with  the  title  "  A  1'Abri." 


14  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1841. 

yet  I  would  scarcely  hazard  a  declaration  whose  import 
might  be  so  easily  misconstrued,  and  which  bears  with  it, 
at  best,  more  or  less  of  niaiserie,  were  I  not  convinced 
that  Professor  Longfellow,  writing  and  thinking  as  he 
does,  will  be  at  no  loss  to  feel  and  to  appreciate  the 
honest  sincerity  of  what  I  say.  With  the  highest  respect, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

EDGAE  A.  POE. 


To  G.  W.  Greene  (in  Rome). 

CAMBRIDGE,  June  10,  1841. 

I  hope  you  will  like  Hyperion.  It  is  a  sincere  book ; 
showing  the  passage  of  a  morbid  mind  into  a  purer  and 
healthier  state.  In  the  same  package  I  send  you  two 
copies  of  the  Voices  of  the  Night.  You  will  see  that 
it  is  the  fifth  edition,  —  and  this  within  eighteen  months  of 
its  first  appearance ;  which  is  more  like  success  than  any 
thing  I  have  hitherto  experienced.  One  copy  is  for  your 
friend  Crawford,  the  other  for  Manzoni.  Have  the  good 
ness  to  send  it  with  a  couple  of  lines  from  yourself,  as  you 
will  perceive  that  I  have  written  only  his  name  in  it.  My 
kind  regards  to  Crawford.  He  is  a  true  man  of  genius. 
The  country  will  be  very  proud  of  him.  His  bust  of  you 
is  exquisite.  How  many  times  must  I  tell  you  this  ? 
Often,  as  I  look  at  it,  my  eyes  grow  moist  with  feeling. 
Every  one  is  delighted  with  it.  Indeed,  you  seem  to  be 
in  the  midst  of  us  here ;  and  not  long  ago,  in  the  middle 
of  dinner,  Sumner  cried  aloud,  "  What  a  bust  that  is  ! 
How  like  Greene ! " 

Sumner,  Felton,  and  Howe  dine  with  me  to-day.  We 
will  crown  your  bust  with  flowers. 


1841.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  15 

From  Esaias  Tegner.1 

BOKEDAL,  near  GOTHEBORG,  July  10,  1841. 
Three  years  ago  —  when  I  was  here  at  Bokedal,  visiting 
Wyk  and  his  beautiful  wife,  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Sweden  —  I  received  the  letter  and  fragmentary  transla 
tions  of  Frithiof  with  which  the  Herr  Professor  honored 
me.2  Professional  duties,  the  Riksdag,  recently  adjourned, 
and  above  all  a  severe  nervous  illness,  have  prevented  my 
expressing  my  thanks  as  I  ought  for  all  this.  Without 
exactly  setting  the  highest  value  on  public  opinion,  either 
in  or  out  of  my  own  country,  and  taking  the  Horatian 
malignum  sperncre  vulgus  for  my  motto,  I  rejoice,  of 
course,  to  find  my  poems  reproduced  in  so  admirable  a 
manner,  and  particularly  for  a  nation  which  I  value.  It 
has  always  been  my  conviction  that  English  is  of  all  lan 
guages  the  one  which  is  best  adapted  to  translation  from 
Swedish;  for  the  English  love,  as  we  do,  to  concentrate 
expression,  either  thought  or  figure,  within  the  briefest 
possible  space ;  to  flash  a  short  but  sharp  sword :  whereas 
the  German  prefers  long,  dragging  sentences,  and  likes  to 
encase  his  weapons  in  a  scabbard  of  hogskin.  English,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  a  collection  of  laconisms,  and  the  so- 
much  misunderstood  Pope,  with  his  keenly  sharpened 
antitheses,  has  always  appeared  to  me  the  true  representa 
tive  of  the  genius  of  the  English  language.  Among  the 
four  or  five  translations  of  Frithiof  which  I  have  had  oc 
casion  to  see,  there  is  none  as  yet  with  which  I  have  been 
fully  satisfied,  except  the  Herr  Professor's.  Where  the 
translator  has  understood  the  meaning,  which  has  not 

1  I  am  indebted  to  Mrs.  Gade  for  this  translation  of  the  Swedish 
original. 

2  These  translations  were  printed  in  an  article  on  Frithiofs  Saga 
in  the  North  American  Review,  July,  1837,  and  republished  in  his 
complete  works  under  the  heading  of  Drift-wood. 


16  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1841. 

always  been  the  case,  the  translation  has  often  suffered 
from  ignorance  of  technicalities  or  insufficient  command 
over  his  own  language.  Lethman's  is  better  in  this  re 
spect.  But  before  all  I  place  the  Herr  Professor's,  both  as 
regards  understanding  of  the  original  and  versification. 
The  only  fault  I  have  to  find  with  the  translation  is  that 
it  is  not  complete ;  and  to  this  I  take  the  liberty  of  calling 
the  attention  of  the  Herr  Professor,  so  that  I  may  be  able 
to  say  that  Frithiof  is  well  translated  into  at  least  one 
language. 

This  winter  I  begin  the  publication  of  a  collection  of 
my  writings  in  verse  and  prose.  The  collection  is  to  be 
divided  into  four  series,  each  containing  about  twenty  to 
thirty  volumes,  and  I  hope  to  be  able  to  publish  the  first 
series  within  a  year  from  now.  Large  parts  of  the  con 
tents  have  never  appeared  in ,  print  before.  By  Wyk's 
ship  I  shall  send  a  copy  of  this  to  America  as  soon  as  it 
leaves  the  press,  addressed  to  the  Herr  Professor,  as  a  mark 
of  my  esteem  and  gratitude.  The  latter  would  be  still  far 
ther  increased  should  the  Herr  Professor  think  something 
in  it  worthy  of  translation. 

My  edition  of  Frithiof  accompanies  this  letter. 

With  high  regard  and  affection, 

The  Herr  Professor's  humble  servant, 

Es.  TEGN&K. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

October,  1841. 

After  you  left  me  last  evening  I  dragged  the  'River 
Charles '  and  got  out  all  the  stones  that  ruffled  the  smooth- 
flowing  current.  The  celestial  emendations  I  wish  to  in 
troduce  into  Bentley's  Magazine  copy.  Therefore,  if 
not  too  late,  keep  back  the  letters  and  bring  them  out 
with  you  on  Saturday.  You  must  come.  It  is  very 


1342.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  17 

important  to  tread  with  iron  heel  upon  the  last  pieces  of 
my  new  volume l  and  winnow  out  the  chaff. 

Love  to  Hillard.     Do  not  forget  the  '  Luck  of  Edenhall.' 


To  Charles  Sumner. 

PORTLAND,  February  15,  1842. 

Your  parting  injunction,  as  we  stood  shaking  hands 
under  the  dim  street-lamp  at  twelve  the  other  night,  was 
"  Write  ! "  At  day-break  the  next  morning  I  was  on  my 
way  eastward ;  saw  the  sun  rise  from,  the  sea,  which  you 
never  did ;  and  rolled  rapidly  on  to  Portsmouth.  There 
we  took  the  stage-coach  and  bumped  in  it  to  Goose  Creek, 
running  into  a  wagon  on  the  way,  and  knocking  a  woman 
in  a  plaid  cloak  into  the  mud.  At  Goose  Creek  we  took 
the  cars  for  Portland,  where  my  arrival  was  celebrated  by 
six  small  boys  imitating  the  steam-whistle.  To  borrow 
the  expression  of  a  fellow-traveller,  we  were  "ticketed 
through  to  the  depot"  (pronouncing  the  last  word  so  as 
to  rhyme  with  teapot),  and  carriages  were  in  waiting. 
Such  was  my  triumphal  entry  into  the  city  of  my  na 
tivity  !  I  have  not  yet  been  honored  with  a  public  din 
ner,  but  a  portrait-painter  occupies  several  hours  of  tho 
mornings,  and  will  send  me  down  to  posterity  with  a  face 
as  red  as  Lord  Morpeth's  waistcoat.  The  painter's  name 
is  Cole,  —  a  good  fellow,  who  has  made  me  a  present  of  a 
painting  of  great  merit.  It  is  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Wright, 
the  renowned  maker  of  wax-work  figures  (the  "original 
Jarley").  The  painting  is  probably  by  West,  and  though 
unfinished,  is  striking  and  valuable.  For  an  account  of 
Mrs.  Wright,  see  Mrs.  Adams's  Letters,  p.  228. 

I  have  seen  John  Xeal.     He  thinks   the   Bostonians 

1  "Ballads  and  other  Poems  "was  published  in  December,  1841, 
though  dated  forward,  1842. 

2 


18  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1842. 

have  made  fools  of  themselves  in  the  Dickens  affair.1  I 
lialf  agree  with  him.  Everybody  here  thinks  Hillard's 
speech  the  best  made  [at  the  dinner] ;  which  shows  their 
good  taste. 

It  is  near  midnight ;  so  farewell,  and  to  bed,  —  perchance 
to  dream  some  blessed  dream  that  shall  perfume  the  night 
and  give  me  fragrant  thoughts  for  a  week.  Such  dreams 
be  yours  !  Good  night. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

NEW  YORK,  April  26,  1842. 

Your  letter  reached  me  this  afternoon,  and  made  my 
heart  swell  into  my  throat.2  But  I  have  determined  to 
put  away  all  the  gloomy  forebodings  which  are  wont  to 
haunt  the  imaginations  of  the  outward-bound.  I  send 
you  back,  then,  none  of  the  darkness  which,  as  you  can 
easily  imagine  —  you  who  know  so  well  how  truly  I  love 
my  friends  —  at  times  usurps  the  empire  of  my  thoughts, 
but  a  parting  gleam  of  sunshine,  as  a  farewell  and  a  bene 
diction.  Meanwhile  I  treasure  up  your  kind  parting 
words  in  my  inmost  soul,  and  will  read  your  letter  over 
again  far  out  at  sea,  and  hear  in  it  friendly  voices  from 
the  shore. 

I  have  passed  three  days  very  pleasantly  here,  though 
my  impatience  hardly  brooks  any  delay,  and  I  am  restless 
to  begin  my  pilgrimage.  The  Wards  are  all  well.  J. 
thinks  you  might  have  called  a  second  time  to  see  them. 
I  think  so  likewise ;  for  she  is  certainly  a  remarkable  per 
son,  and  worth  a  half-dozen  calls  at  least.  Sam  is  as  mul 
tifarious  as  ever:  in  the  morning  reads  Livy  an  hour 

1  The  rather  exuberantly  enthusiastic  reception  of  Mr.  Dickens  on 
his  first  visit. 

2  See  Life,  i.  401.     Mr.  Longfellow  was  setting  out  on  a  voyage 
to  Europe  for  his  health. 


1845.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  19 

before  breakfast  with  Mersch,  then  hurries  down  to  his 
business ;  rides  on  horseback  before  dinner,  and  sings 
Italian  duets  after.  Of  the  other  individuals  I  have  seen, 
my  letter  to  Felton  will  inform  you.  I  have  been  this 
evening  to  see  a  play  called  Boz.  It  is  a  caricature  of 
Dickens's  reception  here.  The  best  joke  in  the  piece  is  an 
invitation  from  the  members  of  an  engine  company  to  see 
a  fire,  and  the  request  to  know  whether  he  will  have  a 
single  house  burned,  or  a  whole  block.  He  is  also  invited 
to  see  a  steamer  burst  her  boiler  on  the  North  Eiver !  I 
tried  hard  to  amuse  myself,  but  found  it  dull. 

But  one  of  my  candles  is  sinking  in  its  socket.  It  is 
nearly  one  o'clock,  and  I  am  the  only  person  up  in  the 
house.  You  see  I  devote  my  last  moments  and  last 
thoughts  to  you.  Think  of  me  often  and  long.  My  kind 
est  remembrances  to  Hiliard,  Cleveland,  and  Howe.  You 
hardly  know  what  it  costs  me  to  leave  you  all.  Once 
more,  Bencdicite  !  When  this  reaches  you  I  shall  be  rock 
ing  on  the  broad  sea,  thinking  of  you  all  through  many 
long  hours. 

P.  S.  —  At  this  very  moment  two  voices,  not  the  most 
melodious,  are  singing  under  the  window,  "Thou,  thou 
reign'st  in  this  bosom  ! "  A  serenade,  —  to  which  of  the 
three?  If  to  J.,  they  will  not  gain  much  by  the  trans 
action  ;  they  sing  too  horribly  out  of  tune. 

From  W.  H.  Prescott. 

PEPPERELL,  June  25,  1845. 

I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  Longfellow,  for  the 
elegant  volume  you  have  sent  me  [Poets  and  Poetry  of 
Europe].  It  is  a  delightful  bouquet  of  wild-flowers, 
picked  off  from  old  tumble-down  ruins  and  out-of-the-way 
nooks  and  by-paths  where  the  foot  of  the  common  travel 
ler  seldom  treads. 


20  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1847. 

The  Scandinavian  versions  are  particularly  agreeable. 
We  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  family  have  a  feeling  and  a  relish 
for  these  old  songs  which  is  hardly  to  be  expected  in 
other  races,  who  have  not  exactly  the  same  chord  in  their 
bosoms  to  be  vibrated. 

The  biographical  sketches  make  the  whole  very  com 
plete,  and  put  the  reader  in  the  right  position  for  compre 
hending  the  strange  verse.  The  book,  I  am  sure,  will 
attract  attention  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  as  well  as 
on  this. 

We  keep  our  villeggiatura  at  Pepperell,  not  flitting 
at  all  to  Nahant  this  summer.  So  I  fear  I  shall  have 
to  be  guilty  of  another  omission  of  my  duties  at  the 
Examination.1 

Yours  faithfully, 

W.  H.  PRESCOTT. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

OAK  GROVE,  near  PORTLAND,  August  14,  1847. 
Your  brief  note  by  James  Greenleaf,  and  the  larger  one 
dated  from  the  Craigie  House,  came  safe  to  the  seaside. 
I  have  always  regretted  the  dismantling  of  that  conse 
crated  chamber.2  But  what  can  one  do  against  the  rising 
tide  of  the  rising  generation  ?  This  morning  I  see  in  the 
"  Daily  "  the  first  notice  of  your  Amherst  oration,  taken 
from  a  Springfield  paper.  The  epithets  are  "  brilliant," 

1  Mr.   Prescott  was  for  several    years    one   of  the    Examining 
Committee   in   the  department  of  Modern   Languages  at   Harvard 
College. 

2  The  southeast  chamber  of  Craigie  House,  which  had  been  Gen 
eral  Washington's  room,  and  was  Mr.  Longfellow's  study  till  1845, 
when  it  became,  the  nursery.     It  was  the  room  in  which  the  Voices 
of  the  Night  and  Hyperion  were  written,  and  had  witnessed  many 
an  earnest  conversation  and  many  a  friendly  supper. 


B 


.lx.     A 


1847.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  21 

"  powerful,"  "  excellent/'  etc.  We  rejoice  in  every  success 
of  yours,  and  long  to  hear  your  own  account  of  the  matter. 
By  this  time  you  must  have  conquered  a  little  leisure. 
Pray  use  it  to  visit  us  here.  On  reaching  Portland  ask 
for  the  Veranda  omnibus,  and  you  will  be  brought  to 
this  delightful  spot  speedily.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can. 
Bring  Felton,  and  Hillard's  letter,  and  we  will  have  a 
merry  day  or  two  before  leaving  this  oracular  grove.  The 
view  from  our  windows  is  charming.  It  commands  the 
harbor,  and  has  a  glimpse  of  the  old  fort  in  Portland, 
which,  oddly  enough,  bears  the  name  of  Fort  Sumner. 
It  was  one  of  the  terrors  of  my  childhood. 

From  J.  L.  Motley. 

CHESTNUT  STREET,  BOSTON,  December  18,  1847. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  have  delayed  thanking  you 
for  the  copy  of  '  Evangeline '  which  you  were  kind  enough 
to  send  me,  but  I  assure  you  that  I  have  not  made  the 
same  delay  in  reading  it.  I  had,  in  fact,  read  it  more  than 
once  before  your  copy  reached  me,  and  I  have  since  read 
it  over  two  or  three  times.  I  find  it  in  many  respects 
superior  to  anything  you  have  published.  As  it  is  the 
longest,  so  it  is  the  most  complete,  the  most  artistically 
finished,  of  all  your  poems.  I  know  nothing  better  in  the 
language,  or  in  any  language,  than  all  the  landscape 
painting.  The  Southwestern  pictures  are  strikingly  vig 
orous  and  new.  The  story  is  well  handled  and  the  in 
terest  well  sustained.  Some  of  the  images  are  as  well 
conceived  and  as  statuesquely  elaborated  as  anything  you 
have  ever  turned  out  of  your  atelier,  —  which  is  saying 
a  great  deal. 

You  must  permit  me,  however,  to  regret  that  you  have 
chosen  hexameters,  —  for  which  I  suppose  you  will  think 
me  a  blockhead.  Although  yours  are  as  good  as,  and 


22  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1847. 

probably  a  great  deal  better  than,  any  other  English 
hexameters  (of  which  I  have,  however,  but  small  experi 
ence),  yet  they  will  not  make  music  to  my  ear,  nor  can  I 
carry  them  in  my  memory.  There  are  half  a  dozen  par 
ticular  passages  in  which  the  imagery  is  chiselled  like  an 
intaglio,  which  would  make  a  permanent  impression  on 
my  memory  if  it  were  not  for  the  length  of  the  metre ;  as 
it  is,  I  only  remember  the  thought  without  the  diction, 
—  which  is  losing  a  great  deal.  Thus  the  description  of 
the  mocking-bird,1  the  mimosa-like  hearts  which  shrink  at 

1  Mr.  Longfellow,  by  way  of  experiment,  wrote  out  the  passage 
about  the  mocking-bird  in  the  ordinary  English  pentameter  verse. 
The  reader  may  be  interested  in  comparing  the  two  forms,  and  will 
hardly  fail  to  give  the  preference  to  the  poet's  choice  of  metres. 
Here  are  the  two:  — 

Upon  a  spray  that  overhung  the  stream, 
The  mocking-bird,  awaking  from  his  dream, 
Poured  such  delirious  music  from  his  throat 
That  all  the  air  seemed  listening  to  his  note. 
Plaintive  at  first  the  song  began,  and  slow  : 
It  breathed  of  sadness  and  of  pain  and  woe  ; 
Then,  gathering  all  his  notes,  abroad  he  flung 
The  multitudinous  music  from  his  tongue,  — 
As,  after  showers,  a  sudden  gust  again 
Upon  the  leaves  shakes  down  the  rattling  rain. 

Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking-bird,  wildest  of  singers, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er  the  water, 

Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious  music 

That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves  seemed  silent  to  listen. 

Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ;  then  soaring  to  madness 

Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 

Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lamentation  ; 

Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad  in  derision, 

As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through  the  tree-tops 

Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower  on  the  branches. 

Ewngeline,  ii.  2. 

It  is  not,  however,  in  descriptive  passages  like  this  that  the  supe 
riority  of  the  hexameter  for  the  poet's  purpose  is  shown,  so  much  as 
in  the  continuous  narrative,  of  which  the  poem  largely  consists. 


1818.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  23 

the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  and  many  other  such  passages.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  want  [in  English  hexameters]  of  the  recoil,  the 
springiness,  which  makes  a  Latin  hexameter  sound  as  if 
you  pulled  out  a  piece  of  Indian  rubber  and  let  it  snap 
back  again.  ...  I  suppose  you  will  have  had  quite  enough 
of  my  lecture  upon  hexameters  by  this  time.  I  can  only 
assure  you,  in  conclusion,  that  I  sincerely  admire  'Evan- 
geline,'  and  that  the  metre  is  the  only  fault  I  have  to  find 
with  it.  Once  more  thanking  you  for  remembering  me, 
I  am  very  sincerely  yours, 

J.  L.  MOTLEY. 

From  William  Whewell  to  George  Bancroft* 

TRINITY  LODGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  February  4,  1848. 
MY  DEAK  SIR, —  I  have  just  been  reading  a  poem  by 
Mr.  Longfellow  which  appears  to  me  more  replete  with 
genuine  beauties  of  American  growth  than  any  other  pro 
duction  of  your  poets  which  I  have  seen.  The  story 
refers  to  Acadie,  and  one  of  the  incidents  is  the  deporta 
tion  of  a  whole  village  of  peaceful  inhabitants  (the  village 
is  called  Grand  Pre')  by  the  soldiers  and  sailors  of  "  King 
George."  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Longfellow  had  some  his 
torical  ground  for  this  event.  .  .  .  Will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  tell  me  —  no  one  can  do  it  so  well  —  what 
this  history  is,  and  where  I  shall  find  it  ?  No  doubt  many 

1  Enclosing  this  letter  to  Mr.  Longfellow,  Mr.  Bancroft  (then 
Minister  in  England)  wrote  as  follows  :  "  To  be  praised  by  one's 

ends  is  delightful,  because  the  approval  is  warmed  by  affection  ; 
but  love  is  a  corrupter  of  judgment,  and  the  praise  'of  a  stranger  is 
the  voice  of  impartiality.  Yesterday  I  received  the  enclosed  note 
from  Dr.  Whewell,  whose  opinion  Mr.  Everett  can  best  tell  you  how 
to  value.  I  hear  of  you  now  and  then  through  Mr.  Sumner,  and 
always  rejoice  in  your  happiness  and  increasing  fame." 

Mr.  Edward  Everett  had  sent  the  poem  to  Dr.  Whewell.  who 
wrote  a  long  and  appreciative  review  of  it  in  Eraser's  Magazine. 


24  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1848. 

incidents  in  our  treatment  of  our  colonies  have  left  deep 
memories  on  your  side  of  the  Atlantic  which  we  know 
little  about. 

Yours  most  truly, 

W.  WHEWELL. 

From  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

SALEM,  February  10,  1848. 

DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  should  have  come  to  see  you 
to-day  had  it  not  been  so  fearfully  cold.  Next  week,  if 
God  permit  (and  signify  his  good  pleasure  by  a  clear  sky 
and  mild  temperature),  I  will  certainly  come.  The  idea 
of  a  history  of  Acadie  takes  my  fancy  greatly ;  but  I  fear 
I  should  not  be  justifiable  to  the  world  were  I  to  take  it 
out  of  the  abler  hands  of  Professor  Eelton.  I  went  to 
hear  his  lecture  last  night,  and  was  much  interested.  We 
will  talk  it  over.  You  have  made  the  subject  so  popular 
that  a  history  could  hardly  fail  of  circulation. 

I  write  in  my  office  [at  the  Custom-house],  and  am 
pestered  by  intruders. 

Ever  your  friend, 

NATHL  HAWTHOENE. 

From  Josiah  Quincy.1 

BOSTON,  February  21,  1848. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  My  daughter  informs  me  that  you  desired 
her  to  remind  me  of  my  promise  to  send  you  a  copy  of 
the  English  hexameter  lines  I  had  repeated  to  you.  This 
I  will  do  with  great  pleasure,  premising  that  I  know  not 
who  was  their  author.  They  are  among  the  relics  of  the 
vanishing  recollections  of  my  college  life.  They  have 
been  carried  in  my  memory  at  least  sixty  years,  and  may 

1  Ex-President  of  Harvard  University. 


1848.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  25 

have  lost  something  in  place,  by  the  jostling  of  the  vehicle, 
in  the  course  of  so  long  a  transportation. 

This  species  of  verse  is  capable  of  effecting  a  majesty  of 
expression  which  is  now  only  attainable  in  our  blank 
verse.  It  has  also  the  advantage,  from  the  uniformity  in 
the  termination  of  the  lines,  of  gratifying  the  ear  like  our 
English  rhyme,  but  without  its  jingle.  It  is  obvious  that 
the  degree  of  success,  in  point  of  melody,  which  those  lines 
have  attained,  is  owing  to  the  strictness  with  which  the 
law  of  the  hexameter  verse  has  been  observed  in  them. 
Speaking  in  the  language  of  the  schools,  that  law  requires 
that  the  last  two  feet  of  every  line  should  consist  of  a 
dactyl  and  spondee,  and  that  one  or  more  spondees  should 
be  inserted,  with  art  and  taste,  among  the  dactyls  of  the 
four  first  feet,  except  in  cases  where  they  are  omitted  for 
the  sake  of  effect.  Now,  in  observing  the  first  branch  of 
this  law  there  is,  from  the  nature  of  the  English  language, 
comparatively  but  little  difficulty ;  for  dactyls  are  of  con 
stant  occurrence  in  the  modifications  of  our  language,  and 
as  by  the  law  above  mentioned  the  last  syllable  of  every 
line  may  be  common,  a  trochee  is  substituted  for  a  spon 
dee,  which  is  also  in  accordance  with  the  genius  of  our 
language.  .  .  . 

I  have  used  the  school  terms  "  dactyl "  and  "  spondee  "  as 
being  best  adapted  to  illustrate  my  ideas  on  the  subject, 
and  not  because  I  think  the  rules  of  Greek  or  Latin  pros 
ody  capable,  with  any  exactness,  to  be  applied  to  English 
poetry.  But  I  have  long  entertained  the  opinion  that  a 
much  greater  approximation  to  perfection  is  attainable 
in  that  species  of  verse  (hexameter)  than  has  ever  been 
effected,  or  perhaps  attempted.  The  pleasure  I  derived 
from  your  '  Evangeline  '  opened  a  vein  of  thought  which  I 
could  not  stop  running,  nor  refrain  from  giving  you  the 
trouble  of  its  issues. 

Yet  I  cannot  but  think  that  a  man  of  true  poetic  genius, 


26  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1848. 

like  one  I  could  mention,  with  a  little  attention  to  the  se 
lection  of  words,  and  considerable  labor  in  the  collocation 
of  them,  might  approach  very  near,  even  in  onr  language, 
to  the  perfection  of  the  hexameter  verse ;  and  since  all 
melody  in  verse  depends  upon  the  apt  distribution  of  the 
proportions  of  quantity,  and  as  there  is  no  species  of  verse 
more  powerful  than  the  hexameter,  I  hope  still  to  see  the 
day,  and  think  I  know  the  auspices,  under  which  it  may 
be  attempted  and  effected. 

I  had  no  idea  of  leading  you  such  a  journey  when  I 
took  up  my  pen.  I  know  that  some  things  will  make  you 
smile,  perhaps  others  make  you  sneer.  However  that 
may  be,  I  am  indifferent,  as  the  main  object  of  my  let 
ter  is  effected  by  the  opportunity  it  affords  to  subscribe 
myself, 

Very  truly  your  friend  and  obliged  servant, 

JOSIAH   QUINCY. 


From  Mrs.  Basil  Montague  to  Charles  Sumner. 

LONDON,  March,  1848. 

...  I  have  infected  my  husband  and  all  my  friends 
with  such  an  enthusiastic  love  of  Hyperion  that  we  are 
not  disposed  to  like  Mr.  L.'s  '  Evangeline '  so  much  as  we 
ought  to  do.  My  husband  is  reading  Hyperion  for  the 
fourth  time,  as  he  reads  everything,  weighing  every  sen 
tence  ;  and  he  is  more  and  more  pleased  with  it.  In  every 
mood  I  find  something  to  relish.  .  .  .  Everything  he 
writes  is  charming,  from  the  beautiful  feeling  breath 
ing  through  it;  and  I  can  scarcely  read  anything  from 
his  pen  without  tears,  at  the  same  time  that  he  gives 
token  of  an  exquisite  sense  of  humor.  My  husband 
thinks  him  not  only  a  very  fine  poet,  but  also  a  true 
philosopher. 


1818.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  27 

From  Ferdinand  Freiligrath. 

LONDON,  March  11,  1848. 

DEAREST  LONGFELLOW,  —  Forgive  the  shortness  of  these 
lines  in  answer  to  your  friendly  letter  of  February  14  I 
am  so  wholly  taken  up  by  these  glorious  events  in  France l 
(whose  influence  on  Germany,  as  it  was  to  be  expected, 
begins  already  to  become  visible)  that  I  am  scarcely  able 
to  think  of  anything  else,  and  that  my  own  fate  and  my 
own  concerns  for  a  time  seem  quite  second  considerations. 
Yet  are  these  great  world-shaking  occurrences  of  a  nature 
that  also  my  little  individual  lot  may  get  another  direction 
by  them, — little  as  I  would  have  dreamt  of  such  a  thing  still 
a  fortnight  ago.  About  that  and  about  "  business  "  in  gen 
eral  I  have  written  to  Professor  Beck,  who  will  communi 
cate  to  you  the  particulars.  For  the  present,  let  me  offer 
to  you  my  warmest  thanks  for  all  you  have  done ;  and  be 
assured  that  if  I  come  still  to  America,  the  first  roof 
under  which  I  rest  from  my  wanderings  shall  be  Wash 
ington's  and  yours !  God's  blessings  over  that  roof  for  its 
old  fame  and  its  young  hospitality ! 

I  join  some  verses  which  were  written  under  the  im 
pression  of  the  first  news  from  Paris,  and  which  I  have 
scattered  in  some  thousand  copies  "le  long  du  Ehin,"  — 
most  uselessly,  I  dare  say,  for  in  times  like  these,  events 
themselves  are  the  best  agitators.  When  mankind, 
roused  by  the  spirit  of  history,  becomes  a  poet,  rhymes 
are  superfluous.  Yet  I  could  not  shake  off  these,  which 
came  unsought  for  amidst  all  the  bustle  of  business. 

'  Evangeline '  came  to  hand,  was  read  eagerly,  and  gave 
to  me  as  well  as  to  Ida  the  greatest  pleasure  and  satisfac 
tion.  It  is  a  masterpiece,  and  stands  on  my  shelves, 

1  The  revolution  which  dethroned  Louis  Philippe  and  established 
the  Republic. 


28  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1848. 

not  near  Voss's  '  Louise/  but  near  old  Wolfgang's  '  Her 
mann  and  Dorothea.'  I  cannot  now  enter  into  any  de 
tails  ;  but  I  cannot  omit  to  mention  how,  among  so  many 
other  beautiful  passages,  I  was  struck  by  that  truly  grand 
and  sublime  one,  when  the  returning  tide  suddenly  an 
swers  the  voice  of  the  priest  at  old  Benedict's  funeral 
service.  Such  strokes  reveal  the  poet. 

Some  weeks  ago  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr. 
Latham,  a  former  pupil  of  yours  and  Beck's,  whom  you 
introduced  to  me  by  some  lines.  I  like  him  very  much,  — 
such  a  straightforward,  honest  fellow.  He  must  now  be 
again  with  you. 

Ida's  and  my  love  to  all  of  you.     God  bless  you ! 
Always  truly  and  affectionately  thine, 

F.  FllEILIGKATH. 

From  John  Forster. 

58  LINCOLN'S  INN  FIELDS,  LONDON, 
September  4,  1848. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  cannot  send  you  an  '  Evan- 
geline'  (I  wish  I  could!),  but  such  as  I  can  I  send  you. 
Macready  promises  to  convey  safely  to  you  the  accom 
panying  volume. 

How  beautiful  and  masterly  your  poem  is !  I  have  very 
little  to  object  to  in  it,  except  the  hexameter ;  I  cannot 
reconcile  myself  to  that.  The  genius  of  the  language  is 
adverse.  But  you  have  done  more  with  it,  I  honestly 
think,  than  any  other  [English]  writer.  Your  pictures 
are  charming  throughout,  radiant  with  color,  rich  in 
emotion ;  and  you  do  as  much  with  a  single  word  very 
often  as  the  best  of  our  old  poets.  But  I  am  going  to 
speak  of  the  poem  elsewhere,  and  shall  say  no  more  here. 
Did  you  see  what  Whewell  said  of  it  ? 

Hillard  has  made  himself  popular  here,  and  we  shall 
all  grieve  to  lose  him.  Your  sight,  I  hope,  is  better  than 


1849.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  29 

it  was.  I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  hear  that  all  is  well  with 
you,  and  grateful  for  a  letter,  however  brief.  Believe  me, 
my  dear  friend, 

Always  most  sincerely  yours, 

JOHN  FORSTER. 

From  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

SALEM,  November  21,  1848. 

DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  will  gladly  come  on  Thursday, 
unless  something  unexpected  should  thrust  itself  into  the 
space  between.  Thoreau  is  to  be  at  my  house,  as  he  is 
engaged  to  lecture  here  on  Wednesday  evening;  and  I 
shall  take  the  liberty  to  bring  him  with  me,  unless  he 
have  scruples  about  intruding  on  you.  You  would  find 
him  well  worth  knowing ;  he  is  a  man  of  thought  and 
originality,  with  a  certain  iron-poker-ishness,  an  uncom 
promising  stiffness  in  his  mental  character  which  is  inter 
esting,  though  it  grows  rather  wearisome  on  close  and 
frequent  acquaintance.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  Ellery 
Channing,  — gladder  to  see  you. 

Your  friend, 

NATHL  HAWTHORNE. 

From  R.  W.  Emerson. 

CONCORD,  January  5,  1840. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  send  you  a  poem  which 
you  must  find  time  to  read,  and  which  I  know  you  will 
like.1  The  author  is,  or  was  lately,  a  Fellow  of  Oriel  Col 
lege,  Oxford,  and  was  Dr.  Arnold's  favorite  pupil  when  at 
Rugby.  I  knew  him  at  Oxford,  and  spent  a  month  in 
Paris  with  him ;  valued  him  dearly  :  but  I  confess  I  never 

1  This  was  A.  H.  dough's  poem,  'The  Bothie  of  Toper-na- 
Fuosich '  (afterward  changed  to  Toper-na-Vuolich). 


30  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1849. 

suspected  all  this  poetical  fury  and  wealth  of  expression. 
Will  you  not,  after  trying  his  verses,  leave  it  for  me  at 
James  Munro's  in  Boston,  —  say  on  Wednesday  or  Thurs 
day  ?  Ellery  Channing  has  kept  Jasmin  from  me  till 
lately;  so  it  must  stay  yet  a  little  longer  with  me. 
Yours  ever, 

E.  W.  EMERSON. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

PORTLAND,  July  28,  1849. 

Thanks  for  your  newspapers  and  the  letters.  Pray 
come  yourself  next.  This  is  a  beautiful  place.  We  will 
walk  by  the  seaside  and  discourse  of  many  things,  —  most 
of  the  woes  of  much-suffering  mortals,  particularly  the 
Eomans ;  maledicent  of  the  French  and  the  false-hearted 
and  treacherous  who  govern  ill-fated  France.1  Likewise 
we  will  vilipend  the  London  Times,  in  whose  great  fer 
menting  vats  is  adulterated  the  generous  wine  of  Truth, 
as  the  juice  of  the  grape  in  the  London  Docks.  To  think 
that  it  should  be  sent  over  here  as  the  genuine  article, 
and  that  the  good  people  here  should  smack  their  lips 
over  it,  and  twirl  it  round  in  their  little  hearts  as  in  small 
glasses,  and  say,  "  How  delightful ! " 

From  Edward  Everett. 

CAMBRIDGE,  December  27,  1849. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Allow  me  to  return  our  united  thanks  for 
the  delightful  little  volume  so  kindly  sent  us,  which  re 
news  our  agreeable  acquaintance  with  some  favorites  and 
introduces  us  to  others,  their  equals  in  interest.  The 
'Launch'  is  admirable.  Some  strains  in  the  volume,  I 

1  This  year,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  that  of  the  occupation  of 
Rome  by  French  troops  in  suppression  of  the  Republic. 


1850.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  31 

need  not  say,  are  well  calculated  to  reach  the  hearts  of  all 
parents  who,  like  us,  have  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 
beloved  children. 

Believe  me,  dear  sir,  with  great  regard, 

Sincerely  yours, 

EDWARD  EVEEETT. 

From  Frederika  Bremer.1 

BOSTON,  February  26,  1850. 

MY  DEAE  SIE,  —  For  your  little  kind  and  friendly  note 
let  me  thank  you  most  heartily,  as  well  as  for  so  many 
other  tokens  of  your  amiable  and  benevolent  feelings 
which  you  have  bestowed  upon  me.  You  have  been  and 
are  very  good  to  me,  and  so  is  your  wife ;  and  I  feel  it 
more  than  I  can  express.  I  certainly  think  that  the 
hand  which  you  kindly  say  you  "hold"  will  not  prove 
false  to  my  wish  to  come  once  more  to  you  and  enjoy 
your  company  more  truly  than  I  have  been  able  to  do  it, 
in  this  time  of  my  eclipse.  Indeed,  I  have  not  been  half 
alive  these  past  three  months.  But  they  are  past,  and, 
thank  God !  I  feel  the  spring  coming  in  body  as  well  as  in 
mind. 

Just  now  I  have  been  able  to  recover  among  my  books 
these  songs  of  Truneberg  I  told  you  of.  Pray  keep  them 
and  use  them  as  it  pleases  you.  The  extraordinary  sensa 
tion  they  have  created  throughout  Sweden,  and  even  in 
Denmark,  speaks  for  their  excellence.  Then  they  are 
simple  and  unassuming  as  the  mosses  on  my  native  moun 
tains,  and  derive  their  power  from  their  freshness  and 
moral  purity  and  force.  Since  the  poems  of  Tegner  none 
have  created  so  universal  enthusiasm  in  Sweden  as  these 
"  sa'gner." 

1  The  author  of  the  Swedish  novels,  The  Home,  The  Neighbors, 
etc.,  was  then  on  a  visit  in  the  United  States.  She  left  with  Mr. 
Longfellow  a  cast  of  her  hand.  She  died  in  1866. 


32  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1850. 

Your  songs  and  sketches  from  Sweden  will  be  my 
companions  on  my  tour  through  your  country,  and  the 
memory  of  your  kindness  and  good-will  shall  follow  ine  to 
my  native  land  and  forever ! 

Remember  me,  my  dear  sir,  as  your  grateful  friend, 

FEEDEEIKA  BEEMEE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CORRESPONDENCE. 
1852-1860. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

May  13,  1852. 

IT  is  raining  beautifully,  and  all  the  fields  look  green. 
For  half  an  hour  I  have  been  trying  to  write  a  poem :  not 
succeeding,  I  write  to  you,  knowing  that  in  that  I  shall 
succeed,  —  after  a  fashion,  at  least. 

George  must  have  told  you  of.  our  meeting  the  Kossuths 
at  Howe's.  We  have  seen  them  since,  and  like  them 
much.  Also  the  Puiszkys,  of  whom  we  have  seen  more. 
They  have  dined  with  us  twice,  quite  without  ceremony, 
so  that  we  have  seen  them  to  advantage.  What  a  sad  fate ! 
"  Di  tutti  i  miscri  m'  incrcsce  ;  ma  ho  maggior  pietci  di  co- 
loro,  i  quali.  in  esiglio  affliggendosi,  vedono  solamcnte  in 
sogno  la  patria  loro  !"  And  to  have  gross  insults  thrust 
into  their  faces  in  the  newspapers !  Dante  was  spared 
that,  at  least,  in  his  exile ! 

We  read  of  your  brother  Henry's  death,  and  sympa 
thize  with  you.  So  moves  on  the  great  funeral  procession ; 
and  who  knows  how  soon  we  shall  lead  it,  and  no  longer 
follow  ! 

From  George  Sumner. 

NEWPORT,  October  3,  1852. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  will  not  any  longer  delay 
telling  you  the  pleasure  which  Washington  Irving  re 
ceived  from  your  remembrance.  During  one  of  our 

3 


34  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1852. 

charming  morning  drives  — lasting  from  eleven  to  three  — 
he  discussed  your  works ;  and,  while  admiring  all,  he  gave 
the  palm  to  Hyperion.  Irving  is  full  of  life  and  anima 
tion.  His  trip  to  Saratoga  has  done  him  much  good.  He 
has  been  rejuvenated ;  and,  astonished  at  his  own  force, 
he  now  exclaims,  "  Who  would  have  thought  the  old  man 
had  so  much  blood  in  him  ?  "  .  .  . 

Ever  yours, 

GEORGE  SUMNEK. 

From  G.  P.  R.  James. 

STOCKBRIDGE,  MASS.,  January  4,  1852. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  have  read  your  Golden 
Legend  four  times,  and  am  delighted  with  it.  I  like  it 
better  than  '  Evangeline,'  although  I  feel  sure  the  latter  is 
your  own  favorite ;  and  perhaps  it  will  please  "  the  gen 
eral  "  more.  But  the  Golden  Legend  is  like  an  old  ruin 
with  the  ivy  and  the  rich  blue  mould  upon  it ;  and  to  me, 
who  live  so  much  in  the  past,  that  is  very  charming. 
The  versification,  too,  is  exceedingly  happy,  and  brings 
back  to  the  ear  the  metres  of  old  times,  like  the  chime  of 
distant  bells.  I  cannot  understand  your  having  composed 
such  song  at  Cambridge.  Had  you  been  upon  the  sea 
shore  when  it  was  written,  fancy  might  have  brought  the 
sounds  across  the  Atlantic. 

I  see  you  and  I  have  formed  somewhat  the  same  notion 
of  the  Devil.  I  drew  a  sketch  of  the  same  gentleman  sev 
eral  years  ago  in  a  sort  of  play-poem  called  '  Camaralza- 
man.'  If  I  can  get  a  copy  I  will  send  it  to  you ;  but  I 
doubt. 

I  am  just  now  busy  with  preparations  for  building  my 
new  house  as  soon  as  spring  commences,  —  getting  timber 
out  of  swamps  and  stone  out  of  mountains ;  so  that  one 
half  of  each  day  is  passed  either  on  the  hill-side  or  in  the 


1853.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  35 

depth  of  the  dell.  I  have  got  a  very  lovely  site,  —  a  new 
purchase  since  I  saw  you,  —  very  nearly  as  good  as  your 
own,  though  the  pine- wood  which  mantles  my  hill  is  not 
so  ancient  as  the  poet's  grove,  nor  so  stately,  either.1  I 
wish  you  would  build  at  length;  it  is  really  wrong  to 
leave  so  lovely  a  spot  undwelt  in.  But  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  you  keep  this  idea  of  building  as  a  pleasant 
sort  of  vision,  which  might  be  dissolved  by  any  attempt 
at  realization.  If  so,  dream  on.  But  if  you  wake,  and  I 
can  do  anything  to  serve  you  in  neglected  Stockbridge, 
pray  command 

Yours  ever, 

G.  P.  K.  JAMES. 

From  C.  C.  Felton. 

STRASBURG,  July  8,  1853. 

DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  arrived  here  this  evening,  and 
have  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  the  cathedral  in  the 
twilight.  I  have  seen  nothing  more  wonderful, — an  epic 
poem  in  stone ;  the  dim,  mysterious  form,  the  sober  light 
faintly  glimmering  through  the  tracery  of  the  spire,  and 
the  stars  shining  round  its  summit.  .  .  .  But  I  sat  down 
to  write  you,  not  about  a  poem  in  stone,  but  about  a  poem 
in  flesh  and  blood,  —  Jasmin.2  I  am  very  sorry  you  did 
not  send  him  your  poems  by  me ;  I  should  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  placing  them  directly  in  his  hands.  Appleton 
(to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  other  civilities)  introduced 
me  to  the  Baronne  Blaze  de  Bury  [in  Paris],  and  she  in 
vited  me  to  a  soiree  in  her  apartment,  where  Jasmin  was 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  was  possessor  of  an  estate  by  the  river,  called 
the  Oxbow.     His  idea  of  building  upon  it  was  never  carried  out. 

2  Jacques  Jasmin,  "  the  barber  poet "  of  Agen.     Mr.  Longfellow 
had  translated  his  poem,  UAbuglo  de  Castel  Cuille,  in  1849.    He  died 
in  1864. 


36  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1853. 

to  recite  some  of  his  pieces.  T.  and  I  went  together  ;  and 
as  we  were  winding  our  way  up  au  cinquieme,  I  looked 
down  and  saw  a  dark  and  sturdy  figure,  with  a  volume 
under  his  arm,  mounting  after  us.  I  knew  it  was  Jasmin, 
and  sure  enough  it  was  Jasmin.  The  company  was  small, 
but  the  entertainment  beyond  description  delightful.  Jas 
min  equals,  and  surpasses,  all  the  descriptions  given  of 
him.  He  is  the  troubadour  of  the  nineteenth  century,  — 
the  Ionian  rhapsodist  revived.  He  gives  me  a  perfect 
idea  of  what  Homer  must  have  been.  He  draws  together 
enthusiastic  multitudes  of  his  countrymen  in  the  South  of 
France,  where  all  the  genius  of  Rachel  cannot  fill  a  theatre. 
He  is  a  wonderful  nature,  and  no  less  wonderful  as  an 
illustrator  of  ancient  poetical  tradition.  His  delivery  of 
his  own  compositions  is  not  a  piece  of  acting,  it  is  the 
reproduction  of  the  thought,  passion,  and  images  by  voice, 
eye,  gesture.  He  is  possessed  and  overmastered  by  the 
spirit  of  the  poem,  —  his  changing  voice  responsive  to  the 
poetry  as  an  ^Eolian  harp  to  the  breeze,  now  pouring  out 
the  fulness  of  its  tones,  now  trembling  with  tenderness 
and  pity.  As  he  recites  the  pathetic  passages,  tears  gush 
from  his  eyes  and  his  whole  frame  is  agitated.  When  he 
told  the  story  of  the  young  mason,  in  the  Senaro  d'un  Fil, 
even  I,  albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood,  felt  my  eyes 
fill  and  my  nerves  thrill ;  and  the  emotion  visible  in  the 
heaving  bosoms  of  the  lovely  women  who  sat  in  a  circle 
round  the  room  was  no  artificial  expression.  We  listened 
till  one  o'clock,  and  could  have  listened  all  night.  In  the 
intervals  I  had  considerable  conversation  with  him.  He 
is  lively,  frank,  full  of  heart  and  feeling.  The  next  morn 
ing  Parker  and  I  called  at  his  lodgings.  He  was  in  his 
shirt- sleeves,  but  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed.  We  sat 
down,  and  he  entered  at  once  into  a  free  and  hearty  con 
versation.  In  a  few  minutes  his  wife  came  in,  —  a  lively 
and  sparkling  Gascon,  as  agreeable  as  her  husband ;  lastly 


1853].  CORRESPONDENCE.  37 

their  only  son  joined  the  party.  Jasmin  said,  "  This  young 
fellow  deals,  not  in  poetry,  but  in  champagne."  I  said 
that  I  thought  champagne  a  very  good  kind  of  poetry ; 
upon  which  he  insisted  upon  bringing  out  a  bottle,  .  . 
as  light  and  sparkling  as  a  canzonet  in  the  Provencal. 
We  invited  them  all  to  breakfast  with  us  on  the  following 
Sunday  morning.  .  .  .  Jasmin  and  his  wife  are  as  devoted 
to  each  other,  after  a  marriage  of  more  than  thirty  years, 
as  two  young  lovers.  "  My  son,"  he  said,  "  at  the  age  of 
thirty  is  still  unmarried ;  I  married  at  nineteen,  my  wife 
being  sixteen.  That  is  the  difference  between  Paris  and 
Agen.  Ah !  this  Paris  life  is  a  sad  thing.  He  writes  je 
vous  aimc,  and  rubs  it  out ;  je  vous  aime  again,  and  rubs 
it  out ;  and  again  je  vous  aime,  and  rubs  it  out.  /  wrote 
je  vous  aime  "  —  pointing  across  the  table  to  Madame  Jas 
min  with  one  hand  and  laying  the  other  on  his  heart  — 
"here  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  and  here  it  has  re 
mained,  growing  brighter  and  brighter  every  day  since. 
There  is  the  difference  between  us,  and  between  Paris  and 
Agen."  I  have  seen  much  of  Jasmin  since.  We  made  a 
little  party  —  not  a  party,  but  we  asked  half  a  dozen  peo 
ple  in —  the  other  evening.  Jasmin  recited  some  of  his 
best  pieces  with  admirable  effect.  It  is  singular  to  see 
the  triumph  of  such  a  man  in  such  a  city.  On  his  table 
you  see  the  cards  of  some  of  the  noblest  in  the  land,  and 
there  is  not  a  salon  in  Paris  which  is  not  proud  to  wel 
come  him.  The  Academy  has  crowned  his  third  volume 
of  Papillotos  with  a  prize  of  five  thousand  francs,  has  de 
creed  that  his  language  is  a  national  language,  and  he  a  na 
tional  poet ;  and  he  was  long  since  made  a  chevalier  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  With  all  the  homage  of  the  great  and 
the  gay,  Jasmin  is  unspoiled.  Many  people  call  him  vain ; 
but  his  only  vanity  is  an  undisguised  frankness  in  speak 
ing  of  himself  and  his  works.  His  manner  is  totally  un 
affected,  his  tastes  simple,  his  affections  domestic.  When 


38  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1853. 

George  Sand  sought  his  acquaintance,  he  refused  to  see 
her,  on  account  of  her  private  life ;  so  of  Eachel,  the  ac 
tress.  For  France  this  is  most  remarkable.  I  have  prom 
ised  to  visit  him  at  Agen  on  my  return  from  Greece,  and 
dine  under  his  vines,  which  he  describes  so  charmingly  in 
one  of  his  poems. 

This  reminds  me  of  another  poet  whose  pieces  have 
given  me  extraordinary  pleasure,  —  Eeboul  of  Niines, 
[whom]  you  have  probably  read ;  if  not,  borrow  the  two 
volumes  and  translate  forthwith  L'Ange  ct  V Enfant.1  It 
is  singular  that  the  two  greatest,  most  original  poets  of 
France  should  be,  the  one  a  barber,  the  other  a  baker  ;  for 
Eeboul  is  known  as  "  the  Baker  of  Nimes."  —  The  old 
cathedral  clock  has  just  struck  midnight;  the  city  is  silent 
all  about  us,  and  I  will  say  good-night.  I  am 
Ever  heartily  yours, 

C.  C.  FELTON. 

From  A.  H.  Clov.gli. 

LONDON  [1853]. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  You  are  back  in  Cambridge 
by  this  time,  or  rather  will  be  by  the  time  this  touches 
the  western  shore ;  so  I  send  a  few  words  of  greeting 
across.  I  confess  I  could  far  more  pleasantly  be  under 
the  shadow  of  your  balcony  than  in  this  dim  darkness  of 
London  mist  —  it  is  not  quite  fog  at  present.  But  what 
is  much  worse,  is  that  all  friends  and  acquaintances  are 
away.  Carry le  alone  survives,  but  in  Chelsea,  —  as  far 
distant  from  me  in  Bedford  Square  as  Dr.  Howe  in  South 
Boston  is  from  you. 

A  dim  presentiment,  I  think,  must  have  led  me  quite 
unwittingly  to  your  door  that  last  preceding  afternoon 
before  my  departure  ;  I  certainly  felt  no  particular  reason 

1  The  translation  will  be  found  in  Mr.  Longfellow's  works. 


1853.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  39 

for  coming.1  My  office  here  is  called  an  Examinership 
under  the  Committee  of  Privy  Council  for  Education.  I 
am  paid  £300  a  year,  which  rises  gradually  by  £20  a 
year  to  £600.  I  stay  in  there,  up  two  pair,  at  the  very 
corner  of  Downing  and  Whitehall,  from  eleven  to  five 
daily  ;  pretty  well  occupied  all  the  time.  I  find  it,  how 
ever,  as  yet,  rather  agreeable  work  there,  —  chiefly,  per 
haps,  by  way  of  contrast  to  past  pedagogic  occupations. 

Of  news,  at  present,  political,  literary,  or  anything  else, 
one  hears  nothing,  because  everybody  is  gone.  Carlyle  is 
building  himself  a  sound-proof  room  at  the  top  of  his 
house,  being  much  harassed  by  cocks  and  hens  and  hurdy- 
gurdies.  I  think  he  is  working  pretty  hard  at  Frederick 
the  Great.  Tennyson  is  away  in  the  North,  —  at  Glasgow 
when  I  last  heard.  In  Tom  Taylor's  Life  of  Haydon 
there  are  some  pages  about  Keats  that  are  of  interest,  I 
believe.  I  was  looking  to-day  in  the  British  Institution 
at  [Hay don's]  large  picture  of  the  "Judgment  of  Solomon," 
belonging,  it  seems,  to  Landseer.  It  is  really  rather  fine. 
Kingsley  is  going  to  publish  a  poem  in  hexameters,  —  on 
Perseus  and  Andromeda,  I  think.  But  I  have  no  faith 
in  his  poetics.  Disraeli,  it  is  conjectured,  being  put  aside 
by  the  Tories,  may  not  improbably  join  the  Radicals !  I 
saw  the  Pulszkys  the  other  day  at  the  Homers' ;  they 
are  now  living  at  the  bottom  of  Highgate  Hill.  You  are 
not  to  have  them  out  with  you  at  Cambridge  at  present,  — 
not,  I  suppose,  at  any  rate,  until  it  is  quite  certain  that 
the  Czar  will  keep  the  peace. 

Some  wind,  I  think,  stormy  or  otherwise,  must  yet 
mean  to  blow  me  across  the  Atlantic  again.  I  tell  all  the 
people  here  that  they  have  not  seen  anything  of  the  world 
so  long  as  they  have  not  crossed  the  seas. 

1  Mr.  dough  had  left  Cambridge  suddenly,  on  an  unexpected  re 
call  to  England. 


40  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1853. 

From  A.  H.  Clougli. 

LONDON,  September  9,  1853. 

London  continues  infinitely  dull,  and  almost  disagree 
ably  cool,  —  which,  I  confess,  I  myself  prefer  to  the  dread 
ful  heat  reported  of  from  your  side.  Do  you  hear  anything 
of  Hawthorne  ?  I  suppose  he  hides  himself  sedulously  in 
a  corner  of  the  consul's  office  in  Liverpool,  and  will  very 
likely  return  to  America  without  coming  up  to  London.  I 
heard  indirectly  of  Emerson  the  other  day,  through  Carlyle. 
The  sound-proof  room  is  gradually  "getting  itself  built." 

I  met  C.  M.,  your  semi-compatriot,  the  other  day.  He 
had  just  come  back  from  Egypt,  and  is  now  gone  off  to  be 
minister  at  Berne.  He  seemed  to  me  to  be  really  more 
an  American  than  an  Englishman ;  and  though  he  had 
been  reading  Arabic  and  Persian  during  all  his  time  at 
Cairo,  he  had  not  Orientalized  himself  in  the  least.  He 
expressed,  among  other  things,  his  opinion  that  the  Eng 
lish  were  the  most  conceited  nation  in  the  world. 

Have  you  studied,  by  the  way,  the  new  decoction  of 
Christianity  a  la  Tien-teh  [in  China],  which  really  has 
been  the  most  interesting  phenomenon  to  be  heard  of 
lately  ?  The  fragments  of  the  Trimetrical  Classic,  which 
appeared  in  some  of  the  newspapers,  were  quite  worthy 
literary  examination.  Has  the  French  account  of  Messrs. 
Ivan  and  Caillery  come  over  to  you  ?  I  only  know  it  by 
the  abridgments  one  sees  in  Blackwood  and  the  Times; 
but  I  suppose  it  is  the  book  to  be  relied  upon. 

Farewell.  Will  you  remember  me,  if  you  please,  to 
Mrs.  L.,  and  tell  the  young  people  —  who  probably,  how 
ever,  have  forgotten  me  some  little  time  ago  —  that  I 
mean  to  come  over  and  see  them  before  they  have  quite 
grown  up  ? 

Believe  me  truly  yours, 

A.  H.  CLOUGH. 


1854.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  41 

To  Ms  brother  S. 

February  22,  1854. 

Here  is  the  autograph,  which  should  have  gone  in  F.'s 
letter  this  morning,  but  was  forgotten.  We  shall  hope  to 
see  you  before  long;  but  you  must  not  feel  obliged  to 
come  on  purpose  for  the  christening.  We  can  wait  your 
convenience,  or  will  try  to,  —  though  the  baby  is  growing 
heavier  and  heavier  every  hour  ! 

We  get  this  morning  the  outlines  of  Sumner's  speech 
on  the  Nebraska  bill.  I  think  it  will  prove  a  very  power 
ful  as  well  as  eloquent  speech.  Have  you  seen  it  ? 

You  are  not  misinformed  about  my  leaving  the  pro 
fessorship.  I  am  "pawing  to  get  free,"  and  shall  be 
finally  extricated  at  the  close  of  this  college  year. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

SENATE  CHAMBER,  March  2,  1854. 

MY  DEAREST  LONGFELLOW,  —  Your  notes  have  come  to 
me  full  of  cheer.  I  am  weary  and  disheartened  in  front 
of  this  great  wickedness.  My  anxieties  have  been  con 
stant.  The  speech  is  the  least  that  I  have  done.1 

I  have  occasion  to  be  satisfied  with  the  reception  of  my 
speech.  It  has  called  forth  responses  from  all  who  have 
taken  the  floor  since,  and  I  am  told  that  Southerners 
praise  it  as  a  speech.  .  .  .  Mr.  Blair,  the  famous  editor 
under  Jackson,  thanked  me  for  it  with  gushing  thanks, 
and  said  it  was  the  best  speech  made  for  twenty-five 
years.  Surely  I  should  be  content  with  this  praise  if, 
indeed,  I  were  able  to  find  content  in  anything  connected 

1  The  speech,  called  "The  Landmark  of  Freedom,"  against  the 
Nebraska  bill,  which  repealed  the  pledge  by  which  slavery  had  in 
1820  been  solemnly  and  "  FOREVER  PROHIBITED  "  in  the  territory 
north  and  west  of  Missouri. 


42  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1854 

with  this  enormity.     I  am  glad  to  learn  that  I  am  not 
disowned  at  home  in  my  own  Massachusetts.     I  believe 
that  I  touched  my  colleague  quite  lightly  enough. 
Tell  me  of  your  doings  and  of  your  children.  .  .  . 
Yours  evermore, 

CHARLES  SUMNER. 

To  Charles  Sumncr. 

April  20,  1854. 

.  .  .  Well,  I  have  delivered  my  last  lecture,  and  begin 
to  rise  and  right  myself  like  a  ship  that  throws  out  some 
of  its  cargo.  But  I  shall  not  have  up  my  studding-sails 

before  the  summer.     would  make  a  capital  lecturer 

for  the  College ;  but  there  are  six  applicants,  all  friends 
of  mine,  and  so  I  cannot  do  anything  for  either  of  them. 
The  position  is  too  delicate  for  me  to  move.  Still,  I  have 
a  pretty  clear  idea  of  what  would  be  best. 

From  Nathaniel  Hawthorne* 

LIVERPOOL,  August  30,  1854. 

DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Our  friend  Henry  Bright  has 
handed  me  some  autographs  for  you. 

Why  don't  you  come  over  ?  —  being  now  a  man  of  lei 
sure,  and  with  nothing  to  keep  you  in  America.  If  I 
were  in  your  position,  I  think  that  I  should  make  my  home 
on  this  side  of  the  water,  —  though  always  with  an  in 
definite  and  never-to-be-executed  intention  to  go  back  and 
die  in  my  native  land.  America  is  a  good  land  for  young 
people,  but  not  for  those  who  are  past  their  prime.  It 
is  impossible  to  grow  old  comfortably  there,  for  nothing 
keeps  you  in  countenance.  .  .  .  Everything  is  so  delight 
fully  sluggish  here  !  It  is  so  pleasant  to  find  people  hold 
ing  on  to  old  ideas,  and  hardly  now  beginning  to  dream 
of  matters  that  are  already  old  with  us.  I  have  had 
enough  of  progress.  Now  I  want  to  stand  stock  still,  or 


1855.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  43 

rather  to  go  back  twenty  years  or  so ;  and  that  is  what  I 
seem  to  have  done  in  coming  to  England.  Then,  too,  it  is 
so  agreeable  to  find  one's  self  relieved  from  the  tyranny 
of  public  opinion ;  or,  at  any  rate,  under  the  jurisdiction 
of  quite  a  different  public  sentiment  from  what  we  have 
left  behind  us.  A  man  of  individuality  and  refinement 
can  certainly  live  far  more  comfortably  here  —  provided 
he  has  the  means  to  live  at  all  —  than  in  New  England. 
Be  it  owned,  however,  that  I  sometimes  feel  a  tug  at  my 
very  heartstrings  when  I  think  of  my  old  home  and 
friends.1  .  .  . 

Believe  me  most  sincerely  yours, 

KH. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

SENATE  CHAMBER  [WASHINGTON],  February  6,  1855. 

The  poem  is  full  of  beauty ;  but  I  still  think  it  too 
mystical  and  indefinite.2  Some  of  the  verses  are  exqui 
site.  More  than  once  I  have  charmed  a  fair  hearer  while 
I  recited  them.  Lowell's  lecture  on  Milton  lifted  me  for 
a  whole  day.  It  was  the  utterance  of  genius  in  honor  of 
genius.  I  am  glad  that  he  is  to  be  your  successor ;  but  I 
trust  that  his  free  thoughts  will  not  be  constrained  by 
academic  life.  Let  him  continue  himself. 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  you  have  thought  of  me, 
and  especially  amid  the  delights  of  that  music.3  I  envy 
you  those  evenings.  Yesterday  I  met  your  brother  A., 
who  is  here  for  a  few  days. 

Ever  and  ever  yours, 

C.  S. 

1  Mr.  Hawthorne  returned  to  America  in  1860.     It  must  be  re 
membered  that  this  letter  speaks  of  England  thirty  years  ago. 

2  The  double  poem  '  Prometheus  and  Epimetheus  '  was  printed  in 
Putnam's  Magazine  for  February,  1855. 

8  Grisi  and  Mario  had  been  singing  in  Opera  in  Boston. 


44  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1855. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

March  21,  1855. 

My  wife  commissions  me  to  thank  the  noble  house  of 
Ticknor  and  Fields  for  the  very  Beautiful  volume  sent  her 
yesterday.  I  perform  the  task  with  great  alacrity.  A 
more  acceptable  present  you  could  not  have  selected.  A 
thousand  times,  thanks ! 

Yesterday  also  came  from  Eoutledge  a  single  copy  of 
the  engraving  of  my  portrait  by  Lawrence.  It  is  very 
beautifully  executed,  and  I  think  you  will  like  it,  —  though 
there  is  a  little  "  hay  in  the  hair."  I  will  bring  it  in  on 
Saturday,  —  or  if  you  can  come  out  to-morrow  forenoon 
you  shall  see  it,  and  also  the  '  Song  of  Hiawatha,'  which 
I  finished  to-day  at  noon.  Of  course  the  bells  rang  ! 

To  Mrs.  Marshall. 

April  10,  1855. 

...  I  have  always  a  charming  picture  of  you  before 
my  mind  as  a  young  wife  busy  with  your  household,  or 
looking  up  from  your  book  at  the  sound  of  an  opening 
door  and  a  well-known  footstep,  or  putting  on  your  shawl 
and  walking  over  to  your  mother  when  some  grand  prob 
lem,  difficult  of  solution,  presents  itself  in  the  "  celestial 
mechanics  "  of  housekeeping. 

Then  I  think  of  Schiller's  beautiful  description  of  the 
wife  in  his  'Song  of  the  Bell/  and  how  the  German 
women  beautify  and  dignify  their  household  cares,  and 
how  the  American  women  do  not,  —  which  is  a  great  pity 
and  a  great  mistake ;  for  life  is  very  much  what  we  make 
it,  and  if  we  call  duty  by  the  name  of  drudgery  we  degrade 
it.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Or  are  you  on  the  other  side,  taking 
part  with  our  rebel  American  angels  ? 


1855.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  45 

From  H.  R.  ScJwolcraft. 

WASHINGTON,  December  19,  1855. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  received  the  copy  of  '  Hiawatha ' 
with  which  you  have  favored  me,  and  have  read  the  poem 
with  equal  avidity  and  high  gratification.  Its  appearance 
from  the  American  press  constitutes,  in  my  opinion,  a 
period  in  our  imaginative  literature  which  cannot  but  be 
regarded  as  a  progressive  feature.  From  the  days  of  '  Atala' 
and  '  Yamoyden  '  to  Mr.  Street's  poem  of  Iroquois  life,  of 
which  I  have  only  seen  extracts,  it  has  been  an  open 
question  how  far  the  Indian  character  and  mythology  is 
material  for  poetry.  But  notwithstanding  much  clever 
ness  and  some  successful  passages  in  each  attempt,  the 
general  failure  of  popular  attractiveness  may  be  sufficient 
to  convince  us  that  there  are  some  insuperable  difficulties. 
One  of  the  great  faults  of  authors,  it  appears  to  me,  has 
been  treating  the  Indian  as  a  stoic  through  every  scene, 
thus  disconnecting  him  from  human  sympathies.  We 
may  admire  fortitude,  wisdom,  and  eloquence,  but  we  can 
only  love,  or  be  deeply  interested  in,  the  bosom  that  has 
kind  affections,  whether  the  expression  be  simple  and  rude, 
or  highly  refined. 

The  Indian  must  be  treated  as  he  is.  He  is  a  warrior 
in  war,  a  savage  in  revenge,  a  stoic  in  endurance,  a  wol 
verine  in  suppleness  and  cunning.  But  he  is  also  a  father 
at  the  head  of  his  lodge,  a  patriot  in  his  love  of  his  coun 
try,  a  devotee  to  noble  sports  in  his  adherence  to  the  chase, 
a  humanitarian  in  his  kindness,  and  an  object  of  noble 
grief  at  the  grave  of  his  friends  or  kindred.  He  is  as 
simple  as  a  child,  yet  with  the  dignity  of  a  man  in  his 
wigwam.  There  has  been  no  attempt,  my  dear  sir,  before 
'  Hiawatha '  to  show  this.  To  avoid  the  direct  issue  with 
Indian  character,  it  has  been  aimed  to  excite  interest  by 
taking  the  hero  or  heroine  from  the  half-breed  class.  The 


46  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1855. 

result  has  been  that  we  have  had  a  half-breed  class  of 
poetry.  It  is  not  to  be  asserted  that  success  cannot  be 
attained  in  this  line,  only  it  has  not  yet  been  demon 
strated.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that  Eoderick  Dhu,  a 
Highlander,  could,  in  the  hands  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  have 
been  made  more  attractive  by  taking  from  him  the  strong 
marks  of  full-blooded  clanship.  If  the  Indian  is  ever  to 
be  made  the  material  of  popular  poetry,  it  must  be  the 
full,  free,  wild  Indian,  —  the  independent  rover  of  the  for 
ests  and  prairies,  who  loves  the  chase,  loves  liberty,  and 
hates  labor  and  the  white  man,  under  the  impression  that 
the  latter  symbolizes  the  advent  of  his  curse  and  downfall. 
There  are  among  the  Indians  persons  who  are  called  on 
at  burials  to  recite  the  praises  of  the  dead.  These  men 
generally  cut  the  hieroglyphics  on  their  wooden  grave- 
posts.  Others  are  skilled  in  songs,  which  are  often  of  a 
religious,  mystic,  or  elegiac  cast ;  or  are  noted  as  persons 
who  recite  legends  and  stories.  I  have  frequently  had 
these  persons  at  my  house  during  the  long  winter  nights 
in  the  North,  where  the  introduction  of  a  good  meal  has 
put  them  in  the  best  humor  possible  for  whiling  away  the 
time  in  relating  their  lore.  To  assemble  these  on  grand 
occasions,  with  their  rude  instruments  of  music,  appears 
to  me  the  most  eligible  mode  of  procuring  a  correct  and 
pleasing  delineation  of  the  picturesque  and  social  scenes 
and  beliefs  of  aboriginal  life.  For  Hiawatha  to  collect 
together  this  poetic  force  on  the  occasion  of  his  wedding, 
was  certainly  a  most  felicitous  and  eligible  method  of 
celebrating  his  nuptials.  To  my  taste,  the  thoughts  of 
this  poem  are  highly  poetical,  and  the  rhythm  most  har 
monious  ;  and  I  am  free  to  say  that  by  exhibiting  these 
fresh  tableaux  of  Indian  life  you  have  laid  the  reading 
world  under  great  obligations. 

Yours  with  regard, 

HENRY  KOWE  SCHOOLCKAFT. 


1856.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  47 

From  Ferdinand  Freiligrath. 

March  7,  1856. 

I  was  truly  pleased  to  learn  that  my  translating  '  Hia 
watha  '  gives  you  some  satisfaction,  and  that  you  approved, 
too,  of  my  letter  about  the  metre,  in  the  Athenaeum. 

This  letter,  it  appears,  has  really  ended  the  controversy, — 
at  least  none  of  the  controversialists  whom  it  tried  to 
pacify  has  come  forward  against  it.  For  this  reason  I  did 
not  deem  it  fit  to  take  up  the  subject  once  more,  and  to  give 
to  the  public  the  interesting  details  about  Indian  parallel 
ism  which  I  found  in  your  first  letter ;  but  I  shall,  of 
course,  make  use  of  them  in  the  preface  of  my  translation. 

The  portraits  (which  you  had  even  the  great  attention 
to  have  framed  and  glazed)  are  excellent,  —  each  in  its 
kind ;  but  I  prefer  Bogue's.  There  is  more  of  the  good, 
earnest,  straightforward,  and  honest  expression  of  your 
face  in  it  than  in  Eoutledge's.  The  latter  is  now  in  my 
wife's  room  ;  Bogue's  I  have  kept  for  my  study.  And  the 
children,  who  admire  both  prints,  know  very  well  that 
they  represent  but  one  man,  —  a  poet-friend  of  their 
father,  far  away  beyond  the  sea ;  and  very  often,  when 
at  play  under  one  of  the  portraits,  they  may  be  overheard, 
how  the  theme  of  their  childish  prattle  is 

"  —  the  gentle  Chibiabos, 
He  the  best  of  all  musicians, 
He  the  sweetest  of  all  singers." 

Always  thine, 

F.  FKEILIGKATH. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

CAPE  MAY,  July  18,  1856. 

MY  DEAR  LOXGFELLOW,  —  The  waves  which  have 
charmed  me  this  morning  have  come,  perhaps,  from  wash 
ing  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  your  cottage.  This  is  to  me 


48  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1856. 

a  pleasant  thought.  Slowly  comes  strength  at  last.  My 
physician  says  I  cannot  expect  to  be  well  enough  for  duty 
before  September ;  but  I  am  trying  to  anticipate  his  de 
cree,  so  as  to  be  in  the  Senate  during  this  session.  From 
here  I  go  in  a  few  days  to  mountain  air ;  but  my  address 
will  be  to  the  care  of  Eev.  W.  H.  Furness,  of  Philadelphia, 
who  has  been  my  good  Samaritan.  It  is  in  his  brother's 
cottage  that  I  am  sheltered  now,  with  his  two  children 
and  his  gentle  wife.  For  weeks  I  have  riot  touched  a  pen, 
or  you  should  have  heard  from  me  ;  and  F.  too,  whose 
letter  cheered  me  much. 

Ever  thine, 

C.  S. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

[LONDON,  1856.] 

.  .  .  Imagine  what  zeal,  patience,  boldness,  and  love  of  Na 
ture  are  in  these  [pre-Kaphaelite]  pictures ;  and  with  these 
the  Anglo-Saxon  awkwardness,  crudity,  and  poor  senti 
ment.  Still,  after  seeing  the  Vernon  collection,  one  can't 
but  think  better  and  better  of  the  direction  of  the  new 
school.  One  thing  I  find  not  stated  of  it,  —  how  much  it 
owes  to  the  daguerrotype.  The  fine,  minute  finish,  and 
the  breadth  at  the  same  time  they  give;  and  absolutely 
they  manage  to  have  the  same  defects,  —  edginess  and  want 
of  roundness.  I  met  the  Brownings  at  the  Gallery  yester 
day,  and  put  them  on  the  way  to  see  Hilary  Curtis' s 
picture,  which  I  hunted  up.  The  Brownings  are  a  happy 
couple,  —  happy  in  their  affection  and  their  genius.  He 
is  a  fine,  fresh,  open  nature,  full  of  life  and  spring,  and 
evidently  has  little  of  the  dreamy  element  of  Wordsworth 
and  others.  She  is  a  little  concentrated  nightingale,  liv 
ing  in  a  bower  of  curls,  her  heart  throbbing  against  the 
bars  of  the  world.  I  called  on  them,  and  she  looked  at 
me  wistfully,  as  she  believes  in  the  Spirits  and  had  heard 


1856.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  49 

of  me.  Lady  Byron,  too,  has  sent  for  me  to  talk  about  it ; 
but  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  find  time  to  go.  Lowell 
has  turned  up,  and  after  dining  with  the  Storys  and  my 
self  at  a  grand  dinner  at  Sturgis's  the  day  before,  they 
spent  the  day  with  me  and  dined,  and  to-night  I  am  to 
join  them  at  Windsor.  I  hear  of  dear  old  T.  Kensett  and 
Taylor,  but  have  not  got  at  them.  Hazard  is  on  the 
horizon.  I  wonder  if  he  will  walk  the  coast,  as  he  pro 
posed.  Ticknor  looks  wonderfully  natural  in  the  Twistle- 
ton  house.  It  has  a  library,  the  historic  background  for 
him,  and  the  Dwight  Allston,  looking  well.  He  invited, 
the  other  day,  Mackintosh  and  myself  to  meet  Thackeray. 
It  was  very  pleasant.  Thackeray  seemed  to  remember 
the  Yankee  sunshine,  and  expanded,  and  looked  well, 
though  but  lately  recovering  from  an  illness.  He  pro 
posed  going  to  Evans's  after  the  dinner ; l  so  Mackintosh 
drove  us  down.  The  proprietor  made  great  ado  and 
honor.  The  same  scene  Hawthorne  described  to  you 
was  enacted.  We  had  a  seat  of  honor  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  nice  copies  of  the  songs  were  given  us. 
Much  mention  was  made  of  you,  and  the  earnest  request 
that  you  would  favor  by  a  visit  when  you  come  to  Eng 
land.  It  was  fun.  The  head  was  a  character  worthy  of 
Dickens.  In  the  midst  of  beefsteaks  and  tobacco  he 
dilated  on  the  charms  of  early  editions,  and  showed  us 
some.  Deprecating  the  character  of  the  music,  he  nudged 
me  and  said  that,  like  myself,  he  should  prefer  Beethoven 
and  Mozart,  but  if  he  gave  them  he  should  starve.  The 
singing  was  chiefly  comic,  and  not  bad ;  but  one  French 
piece,  by  some  sixteen  juveniles,  had  a  lovely  boy  with  a 
lovely  voice  piping  clear,  sweet,  and  high,  like  a  lark. 
Thackeray  was  in  raptures  with  that  boy.  Thackeray 
called  on  me,  and  I  must  try  to  find  him.  He  lives  in  a 

1  Evans's  supper-rooms  ;  see  Hawthorne's  letter  in  Life  of  Long 
fellow,  ii.  276. 

4 


50  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1857. 

very  pretty  square  not  far  from  Ticknor's.  Mackintosh 
and  I  have  driven  down  to  Chelsea;  missed  Carlyle. 
There  is  a  good,  fierce  picture  of  him  in  the  Exhibition. 

I  very  much  wish  you  were  here.  I  am  for  the  Conti 
nent,  and  want  a  party.  Had  a  long  talk  with  J.  P.  K. 
on  politics ;  Southern  view ;  gave  him  a  Northern  one ; 
delighted  probably  with  each  other.  We  now  hear  that 
Sumner  is  worse.  Truly  I  hope  that  it  is  not  so.  There 
is  heat  enough  in  the  contest  already,  without  any  more 
disaster  in  that  direction.  If  he  should  die,  Achilles 
would  rage  in  the  Trojan  trenches. 

Love  to  dearest  F.,  and  say  how  much  we  all  wish  you 
were  here,  and  what  a  bumper  you  would  have. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

PARIS,  HOTEL  DE  LA  PAIX,  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX, 

August  18,  1857. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Your  letter  of  28th  came  to 
me  to-day,  and  I  read  it  in  the  spray  of  the  plashing 
waters  of  the  fountains  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and 
enjoyed  its  refreshment.  Here  I  am  reminded  constantly 
of  T.,  who  was  so  kind  and  hospitable  to  me  on  my  ar 
rival.  Give  him  my  regards,  and  tell  him  that  I  have 
found  no  companion  for  the  Bois. 

I  am  just  from  the  Chateau  de  Tocqueville,  in  a  distant 
corner  of  France,  fifteen  miles  from  Cherbourg.  I  reached 
there  by  way  of  Jersey,  where  I  passed  a  day.  Victor 
Hugo  has  been  banished  to  Guernsey,  —  or  rather  has  been 
obliged  to  leave  the  first  island,  and  has  taken  refuge  in 
the  latter. 

The  chateau  is  some  four  centuries  old.  The  staircase 
of  heavy  granite,  by  which  I  reached  my  chamber,  was 
built  before  Christopher  Columbus  sailed  on  his  first 
voyage.  It  is  so  broad  and  capable  that  an  ancestor  of 


1857.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  51 

my  host  amused  himself  by  ascending  it  on  horseback. 
There  are  two  round  towers,  such  as  you  see  in  pictures, 
with  walls  six  feet  thick. 

Tocqueville  and  his  wife  inquired  much  about  you,  and 
requested  me  to  give  them  an  opportunity  of  knowing  you 
when  you  come  abroad.  liappelez-vous  bicn  ccla,  said  he 
a  second  time.  I  read  to  them  your  piece  on  Agassiz,  — 
which  they  enjoyed  very  much,  —  and  gave  to  Madame  de 
T.  the  copy  you  had  sent  me.  A  young  English  girl,  who 
came  to  the  chateau  for  a  day,  was  so  enthusiastic  that 
she  sat  down  at  once  and  copied  it. 

From  Cherbourg  I  came  to  Bayeux,  Caen,  and  Paris. 
The  last  is  more  splendid  than  ever.  To-morrow  I  start 
for  Eheims,  to  see  its  historic  cathedral ;  then  to  Strasburg, 
Baden-Baden,  Switzerland.  Do  let  me  hear  from  you 
again  soon,  so  that  I  may  have  your  welcome  on  my 
return  to  England. 

It  is  now  evening.  I  have  had  my  last  dinner  in  Paris. 
It  was  at  the  Cafd  Riche,  on  the  Boulevards.  I  enclose 
the  addition. 

How  are  the  children  ?    Love  to  all. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

C.S. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

INVERARY  CASTLE,  October  22,  1857. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Your  name  is  so  constantly 
in  everybody's  mouth  here,  with  such  expressions  of  inter 
est,  admiration,  and  gratitude,  that  I  cannot  forbear  telling 
you  of  it  again,  though  little  encouraged  by  letters  from 
you.  My  visit  to  Scotland  has  been  most  hurried,  but  I 
have  been  over  great  spaces  and  seen  many  interesting 
people.  At  Dunrobin  Castle,1  far  to  the  North,  was  a 

1  The  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Sutherland. 


52  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1857- 

luxury  difficult  to  describe;  and  there  your  name  is  a 
household  word.  Driving  with  the  Duchess  in  an  open 
carriage  with  four  horses,  with  two  postilions  and  an  out 
rider,  I  read  at  her  request  several  of  your  poems  and 
parts  of  '  Evangeline,'  all  of  which  she  admired  and  en 
joyed  almost  to  tears.  From  Dunrobin  I  went  to  Haddo 
House,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  the  late  Prime 
Minister.  All  the  members  of  his  family  were  familiar 
with  you,  and  even  the  venerable  Earl  enjoyed  '  The  Eainy 
Day.'  One  of  his  sons  mentioned  that  a  cabman  on  the 
estate  inquired  for  a  poem,  written  he  did  not  know  by 
whom,  that  said  something  about  "  footprints  on  the  sand 
of  time." 

Next  I  went  to  what  Walter  Scott  calls  "the  lofty 
brow  of  ancient  Keir,"  the  curious  and  most  interesting 
seat  of  Stirling,  whose  books  you  have.1  Among  the 
guests  there  was  Mrs.  Norton,  as  beautiful  as  ever,  donna 
sublime.  In  the  course  of  a  long  day  with  her  your  name 
was  mentioned,  and  then  for  a  long  time  nothing  else. 
She  has  read  '  Evangeline '  some  twenty  times,  and  thinks 
it  the  most  perfect  poem  in  the  language.  Stirling  has 
read  it  to  her  aloud.  The  scene  on  the  Lake  Atchafalaya, 
where  the  two  lovers  pass  each  other,  she  considered  so 
typical  of  life  and  so  suggestive  that  she  had  a  seal  cut 
with  that  name  upon  it.  Shortly  afterward  the  King  of 
the  Belgians,  Leopold,  visiting  her,  spoke  of  '  Evangeline,' 
and  asked  her  if  she  did  not  think  that  the  word  Atcha 
falaya  was  suggestive  of  experiences  in  life,  and  added 
that  he  was  about  to  have  it  cut  on  a  seal.  To  his  aston 
ishment  she  then  showed  him  hers.  She  has  often  been 
on  the  point  of  writing  to  you,  but  checked  herself  by 
saying,  "  What  will  he  care  for  me  ? "  I  have  promised 

1  William  Stirling,  afterwards  Sir  William  Stirling  Maxwell, 
author  of  Annals  of  the  Spanish  Painters,  Cloister  Life  of  Charles 
V.,  and  other  works.  He  died  in  1878. 


1857.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  53 

her  some  of  your  verses  in  your  own  handwriting,  as  an 
autograph.     You  will  not  dishonor  my  draft. 

Stirling's  house  is  full  of  the  choicest  articles  of  virtu. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  it  contains  more  of  such  things  than 
can  be  found  in  all  the  houses  of  our  country ;  while  in 
beautiful  terraces  belonging  to  it,  the  Isola  Bella  is  its  in 
ferior.  His  cattle  take  the  great  premiums.  Among  them 
is  a  famous  bull  named  Hiawatha,  and  a  cow  named 
Minnehaha.  From  Keir  I  came  by  posting  and  row-boat 
across  the  country  to  this  ancient  seat  of  the  Argylls. 
Look  at  Boswell's  Journal  of  his  Tour  with  Johnson  if 
you  would  have  a  glimpse  at  this  castle.  In  the  morning 
a  piper  plays  the  bagpipe  under  the  windows  and  in  the 
spacious  hall ;  and  so  at  the  evening  for  the  convert.  Here 
your  poems  are  on  the  table ;  both  she  and  the  Duke  are 
familiar  with  them,  and  express  the  strongest  interest  in 
you.  Tennyson,  with  his  wife  and  two  children,  has  just 
passed  nine  days  with  him ;  and  they  wish  much  that  you 
would  come  with  your  wife  and  children.  But  at  all 
these  places  your  welcome  would  be  boundless.  Tenny 
son  has  now  gone  back  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  I  have 
not  seen  him. 

My  plans  are  to  be  with  you  very  soon.  But  now 
comes  my  perplexity.  My  general  health  is  very  good ; 
but  I  have  not  yet  exterminated  all  of  my  debility,  and 
eminent  medical  authorities  warn  me  against  returning 
home  until  this  is  done.  Is  not  this  hard?  Seventeen 
months  have  now  passed  since  my  first  suffering,  and  still 
condemned  to  inaction !  To  return  with  such  a  peril  is 
not  pleasant ;  but  I  shall  return.  My  public  duties  shall 
be  performed. 

Ever  and  ever  yours, 

as. 


54  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

To  Charles  Sumner  (in  Europe). 

January  20,  1859. 

Your  letter  to  E.,  for  which  he  thanks  you  very  much, 
informs  us  of  your  whereabouts.  Do  not  leave  the  South 
of  France  without  visiting  Aigues-Mortes,1 

"  La  cite  poitrinaire 
Qui  ineurt  comme  un  hibou  dans  le  creux  de  son  nid," 

as  sings  Jean  Eeboul,  the  baker-poet  of  ISTimes.  I  would 
also  hunt  him  up,  as  well  as  Jasmin  at  Agen.  Here  are 
two  poetic  pilgrimages  for  you  to  make,  which  I  think 
would  be  very  interesting.  Yesterday  Agassiz  brought 
me  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  his  in  Montpellier  who  men 
tions  seeing  you  daily  ;  says  you  are  attending  a  course  of 
lectures  on  Eousseau,  and  adds,  "  sa  sante  s'ameliore." 

The  "  old  guard "  have  just  been  celebrating  Daniel 
Webster's  birthday  with  a  dinner.  It  was  presided  over 
by  Caleb  Gushing,  who  made  a  speech  containing  all  Lem- 
priere's  Classical  Dictionary  and  part  of  Adams's  Latin 
Grammar.  I  send  you  Felton's  remarks.  The  whole 
affair  reminds  me  of  Iriarte's  fable  of  the  Bee  and  the 
Drones,  —  how  they  got  the  dead  body  of  a  bee  out  of  an 
old  hive  with  great  praise  and  pomp,  performing 

"  Unas  grandes  exequias  funerales 
Y  susurrando  elogios  immortales." 

Only  think  of  the  Old  Whigs  hobnobbing  with  Gushing 
and  Hallet  and  the  rest  [of  the  Democratic  leaders] ! 
Fletcher  Webster  made  a  speech,  pointed  to  the  motto  on 
the  wall,  "  Union  now  and  forever,"  and  said  that  was 
"  all  his  father  had  left  him."  This  recalls  Gil  Bias,  and 
his  parting  from  his  father  and  mother :  "  Us  me  firent 

1  Aigues-Mortes  lies  between  Niraes  and  Montpellier,  and  "  is  of 
interest  as  a  perfect  example  of  a  feudal  fortress  of  the  thirteenth 
century,"  says  Murray. 


1859.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  55 

present  de  leur  benediction,  qui  dtait  le  seul  bien  que 
j'attendais  d'eux."  —  You  will  have  learned  already  the 
recall  of  Lord  Napier.  Motley  is,  I  see,  getting  great 
renown  in  Belgium  for  his  History. 

Whither  do  you  go  from  Montpellier  ?  Would  I  were 
with  you !  How  it  would  air  my  whole  soul  to  be  in  the 
South  of  France  for  a  month  or  two  !  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
ever  be  there.  It  seems  to  grow  more  and  more  difficult 
for  me  to  pull  up  my  anchors.1  Hoping  to  see  you  one 
day  Minister  at  London,  and  to  dine  with  you  there,  and 
with  much  love  from  all  under  this  roof, 

Ever  thine- 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

MONTPELLIER,  FRANCE,  January  24,  1859. 
MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Daily  have  I  been  about  to 
write,  but  delayed  in  the  hope  of  announcing  an  end  to 
my  pains.  Even  now  I  cannot  do  this ;  but  I  shall  surely 
be  well  again,  perhaps  very  soon.  Nothing  can  surpass 
the  tranquillity  of  my  life  here.  After  the  morning  tor 
ment  I  read,  then  walk,  visit  the  most  excellent  library, 
and  attend  the  lectures  on  literature.  The  course  of 
[Rene*]  Taillandier  on  French  Literature  in  the  Eighteenth 
Century  is  most  charming.  You  will  know  something  of 
him  as  the  German  critic  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 
As  a  lecturer  he  is  most  successful.  Each  lecture  is  a 
finished  oration,  delivered  with  great  effect,  and  holding 
his  nearly  four  hundred  hearers  in  closest  attention.  Will 
you  believe  it  ?  —  his  programme  is  first  sent  to  Paris  and 
submitted  to  the  approval  of  the  Government,  who  at  their 
discretion  modify  his  course.  The  two  lectures  he  had 
prepared,  in  this  course,  on  the  Confessions  of  Jean- 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  did  not  visit  France  till  nine  years  later. 


56  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

Jacques  were  crossed  out  of  his  programme.  This  shows 
you  the  extent  to  which  everything  centres  in  Paris, — the 
lectures  of  a  professor  in  Montpellier  are  controlled  by 
that  central  power !  I  attend  also  M.  Maudot  on  Spanish 
Literature.  Another  course  on  Eoman  History,  by  M. 
Germain,  has  interested  me. 

There  is  here  the  best  gallery  of  pictures  in  France,  out 
of  Paris,  with  the  handsomest  Greuze  I  have  ever  seen, 
an  exquisite  Salvator,  and  beautiful  productions  of  Pous- 
sin,  Cuyp,  Teniers,  etc.  Forming  part  of  the  same  estab 
lishment  is  the  library,  which  is  to  me  a  great  resource. 
It  contains  about  thirty  thousand  volumes ;  but  of  these 
six  thousand  were  the  library  of  Alfieri,  and  with  them 
are  the  manuscripts,  letters,  papers,  and  other  valuables 
of  the  great  Italian  poet.  My  early  interest  in  him  has 
been  revived,  and  I  have  enjoyed  much  the  handling  of 
these  relics.  .  .  .  Among  the  books  is  a  copy  of  Marshall's 
Life  of  Washington  in  five  volumes,  in  an  elaborate  bind 
ing,  easily  recognized  as  American,  although  the  best  that 
Boston  could  then  turn  out,  with  this  inscription  on  the 
fly-leaf :  - 

"  To  Louisa  de  Stolberg,  Countess  of  Albany,  this  Life  of 
Washington  is  presented  in  gratitude  for  her  admiration  of 
his  character,  and  as  a  testimony  of  affection  and  respect 
from  her  transatlantic  friend,  M.  C.  Derby. 

"  Boston,  North  America,  26  November,  1816." 

Here  also  are  letters  addressed  to  the  Countess,  and  among 
them  one  of  six  pages  from  Mrs.  Derby,  describing  a  jour 
ney  by  herself  and  husband  from  Boston  to  Charleston. 
New  York  is  called  the  London,  and  Philadelphia  the 
Paris,  of  America.  The  latter  town  is  said  to  contain  une 
Banque  et  une  Acadtfmie  de  peinture.  The  letter,  which  is 
in  French,  concludes  by  introducing  Mr.  Stuart  Newton, 
the  artist,  and  expressing  a  wish  that  the  writer  could 
dance  once  more  at  the  house  of  the  Countess. 


1859.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  57 

My  only  evening  indulgence  here  is  with  the  Societe  de 
vendredi,  composed  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  persons,  — 
two  or  three  professors,  propriStaires,  professional  men, 
and  bankers,  —  founded  originally  in  1811  by  De  Can- 
dolle,  the  famous  botanist.  It  meets  every  Friday  even 
ing  about  nine  o'clock,  alternating  at  the  houses  of  the 
members.  By  a  sumptuary  law  the  entertainment  is 
limited  to  tea  and  four  small  plates  of  confectionery, 
always  supplied  from  the  same  shop.  On  the  centre-table 
are  such  recent  publications  as  happen  to  be  in  the  house 
of  meeting.  .The  conversation  is  various,  touching  on 
literature,  art,  and  even  present  politics.  Almost  all  the 
members  are  ardent  against  the  Emperor  [Napoleon  III.]. 
One  or  two  evenings  much  has  been  said  on  slavery,  which 
I  assure  you  excites  a  most  outspoken  horror.  They  are 
so  simple  that  they  do  not  understand  how  anybody  can 
defend  it. 

One  of  my  best  friends  here  is  Professor  [Charles]  Mar 
tins,  the  head  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  an  old  companion 
of  Agassiz  on  the  glaciers.  We  talk  of  Agassiz  constantly. 
He  thinks  him  right  not  to  renounce  America.1  Taillandier 
said  to  me  the  other  day,  "  M.  Longfellow  doit  avoir  une 
grande  bibliotheque."  "  Assez  grande,"  I  replied  ;  "  mais 
surtout  belle."  Directly  under  me  at  the  hotel  is  M.  Cho- 
quet,  who  has  been  musical  critic  for  several  years  in 
New  York  in  the  Oourrier  des  £tats-  Unis.  He  is  preparing 
a  little  volume  of  translations  of  American  poems. 

1  Agassiz  had  received,  and  declined,  an  offer  from  the.  French 
Government  of  the  Chair  of  Palaeontology  in  the  Museum  of  Natural 
History  at  Paris.  To  his  friend  M.  Martins  he  wrote  :  "  The  work  I 
have  undertaken  here,  and  the  confidence  shown  in  me,  .  .  .  make 
my  return  to  Europe  impossible  for  the  present.  .  .  .  Were  I  offered 
absolute  po\ver  for  the  reorganization  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  with 
a  revenue  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  I  would  not  accept  it.  I  like  my 
independence  better." 


58  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

On  my  way  here  I  stopped  at  Macon,  in  order  to  visit 
the  chateaux  of  Lamartine.  There  are  three,  but  I  in 
spected  only  two.  On  the  table  in  his  study  were  the  two 
folios  of  Petrarca's  Latin  writings,  and  near  by  the  small 
volumes  of  Avcntures  de  Robinson.  Enthusiastic  damsels 
had  inscribed  their  names,  with  verses  from  his  poems,  on 
the  unused  paper  upon  the  table.  ...  I  counted  twenty 
peacocks  in  the  grounds,  making  a  most  magnificent  dis 
play  of  plumage.  If  you  see  Mr.  Thies :  tell  him  that  I 
have  met  here  the  most  scientific  writer  upon  engravings 
of  all  who  have  ever  written.  With  him  I  talk  art. 
Ever  and  ever  yours, 

C.  S. 

From  Charles  Sumner. 

MONTPELLIER,  January  25,  1859. 

.  .  .  My  love  of  books  is  a  great  resource ;  but  I  cannot 
conceal  from  you  how  often  I  am  cut  to  the  heart  as  I 
think  of  my  present  [enforced]  estrangement  from  that 
cause  which  is  to  me  more  than  life.  I  cannot  help  it, 
the  tears  will  come.  Often  I  think  of  rushing  home  and 
dashing  upon  the  scene  again,  without  regard  to  personal 
consequences ;  and  then  I  am  arrested  by  the  conviction 
that  yet  a  little  longer  delay,  and  I  shall  be  well  again. 
How  small  our  politicians  seern  as  I  regard  them  from 
this  distance,  and  how  grand  the  cause  which  I  hope  to 
serve !  Do  you  remember  a  little  piece  of  La  Monnoye, 
entitled  Le  Maitre  et  les  Esclaves  ?  You  will  find  it  in  an 
old  collection  entitled  Bibliotheque  Poetiquc,  iv.  78,  where 
it  is  said,  "  cette  naivete*  est  tirde  du  grec  d'  Hie'rocles." 
Pray  translate  it. 

1  Mr.  Louis  Thies,  curator  of  the  Gray  Collection  of  Engravings 
at  Harvard  College. 


1859.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  59 

While  in  the  midst  of  this  last  paragraph  I  was  inter 
rupted  by  a  visit  from  M.  Taillaudier,  who  has  sat  with 
me  a  long  time,  talking  literature  de  la  maniere  la  plus 
charmante.  He  recited  to  me  several  poems  of  Barbier, 
written  in  1831,  which  he  thinks  the  most  remarkable 
French  poetry  of  this  century.  He  does  not  seem  to  be 
an  admirer  of  Jasmin.  By  the  way,  the  barber  who  cut 
iny  hair  talked  much  of  the  "  barber-poet."  He  described 
to  me  a  dinner  given  some  time  ago  by  the  coiffeurs  and 
perruquiers  of  Montpellier  to  their  brother  of  Agen.  In 
passing  the  Ecole  de  Mddecine  recently,  I  observed  the 
following  notice  posted  at  the  door :  "  MM.  les  eleves  sont 
prevenus  que  demain  trois  cadavres  seront  distribues." 
Every  day  in  going  to  the  Library  I  pass  another  notice, 
twice  repeated,  at  the  door  of  a  church :  "  Par  respect  pour 
le  bienseance  il  est  expressement  recommande  aux  fideles 
de  cracher  dans  leur  mouchoir."  Such  a  notice  at  the 
door  of  our  Senate  would  be  charming  ! 

Europe  is  now  much  agitated  by  what  is  called  the 
"Lombard  question,"  and  everybody  asks  if  there  will  be 
war,  or  peace.  The  impression  is  becoming  general  that 
Austria  has  no  right  to  occupy  Lombardy.  Of  course  she 
has  not.  Her  position  is  so  unnatural  that  it  cannot  exist 
long.  It  is  sustained  now  only  by  means  of  enormous 
military  forces,  which  convert  the  whole  country  into  a 
fortified  camp.  At  Verona,  where  I  was  absorbed  by  the 
thought  of  Dante  and  Cacciaguida  and  princely  Can 
Grande,  I  was  aroused  to  hate  the  Austrian  oppres 
sion.  If  there  is  an  effort  to  throw  it  off,  send  it  your 
benediction.1 

Ever  and  ever  yours, 

C.  S. 

1  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  battles  of  Magenta  and  Solferino, 
in  June  of  this  same  year,  freed  Lombardy  from  the  Austrian  yoke 
and  united  it  to  the  Italian  kingdom. 


60  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

January  30,  1859. 

It  is  Sunday  afternoon.  You  know,  then,  how  the  old 
house  looks,  —  the  shadow  in  the  library,  and  the  sunshine 
in  the  study,  where  I  stand  at  my  desk  and  write  you 
this.  Two  little  girls  are  playing  about  the  room,  —  A. 
counting  with  great  noise  the  brass  handles  on  my  sec 
retary,  "  nine,  eight,  five,  one,"  and  E.  insisting  upon  hav 
ing  some  paper  box,  long  promised  but  never  found,  and 
informing  me  that  I  am  not  a  man  of  my  word ! 

And  I  stand  here  at  my  desk  by  the  window,  thinking 
of  you,  and  hoping  you  will  open  some  other  letter  from 
Boston  before  you  do  mine,  so  that  I  may  not  be  the  first  to 
break  to  you  the  sad  news  of  Prescott's  death.  Yes,  he  is 
dead,  —  from  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  on  Friday  last  at  two 
o'clock.  Up  to  half  past  twelve  he  was  well,  and  occupied 
as  usual ;  at  two  he  was  dead.  We  shall  see  that  cheerful, 
sunny  face  no  more !  Ah  me !  what  a  loss  this  is  to  us 
all,  and  how  much  sunshine  it  will  take  out  of  the  social 
life  of  Boston ! 

I  sent  you  by  the  last  steamer  the  proceedings,  speeches, 
etc.,  of  the  Burns  dinner  [in  Boston].  I  was  not  there, 

but  I  hear  that made  a  regular  fiasco,  —  persisting 

in  reading  a  speech  forty  minutes  long ;  the  audience 
noisy  and  impatient,  and  sending  him  strips  of  paper  with 
the  words,  "  Stop,  stop  !  for  Heaven's  sake  stop !  "  and  he 
plunging  on,  with  his  speech  before  him,  in  type  for  the 
next  day's  Courier.  Emerson's  speech  is  charming;  do 
you  not  think  so  ? 

Lord  Radstock  is  here,  —  an  Irish  peer,  with  his  lady, 
whom  all  delight  in. 


1859.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  61 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

February  13,  1859. 

Aigues-Mortes !  Decidedly  you  will  go  to  Aigues- 
Mortes,  and  see  in  imagination  the  sailing  of  St.  Louis 
for  the  Holy  Land.  "Where  have  I  read  about  it,  and 
why  does  it  make  such  a  picture  in  my  mind  ? 

Lowell  has  lately  written  in  the  Atlantic  a  couple  of 
very  clever  articles  on  Shakespeare.  Here  is  a  recondite 
joke  from  one  of  the  pages  :  "  To  every  commentator  who 
has  wantonly  tampered  with  the  text,  or  obscured  it  with 
his  inky  cloud  of  paraphrase,  we  feel  inclined  to  apply 
the  quadrisyllabic  name  of  the  brother  of  Agis,  king  of 
Sparta."  Felton  was  the  first  to  find  out  the  joke,  and  to 
remember,  or  discover,  that  this  name  was  Eudamidas  ! 

The  Atlantic  flourishes.  Holmes  is  in  full  blast  at  his 
"  Breakfast-table."  Charles  Norton  has  lately  contributed 
two  good  articles  on  Dante's  Vita  Nuova,  with  analysis  and 
numerous  translated  passages.  I  wrote  you  on  the  20th 
January,  and  again  on  the  30th,  and  sent  you  papers,  one 
with  Emerson's  speech  at  the  Burns  dinner,  and  one 
with  notices  of  [W.  H.]  Prescott.  His  death  is  greatly 
deplored ;  a  very  sincere  grief.  Hallam,  too,  is  dead,  —  a 
week  before  Prescott.  Theodore  Parker  and  his  wife  have 
gone  to  Cuba  for  his  health,  his  lungs  being  affected ;  and 
Dr.  Howe  and  his  wife  have  gone  with  them. 

Altogether  it  has  been  a  very  gloomy  winter,  rainy  and 
wretched  in  an  unusual  degree.  I  wish  we  were  all  at 
Montpellier  with  you.  What  do  you  mean  by  your 
"  morning  torment "  ?  You  are  not  undergoing  the  fire 
again,  are  you  ?  Heaven  forbid ! 

February  21. 

I  hoped  to  write  you  a  long  letter;  but  the  inevi 
table  interruptions  of  our  daily  life  have  thrown  me  out. 


62  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

To-morrow  Lowell's  friends  give  him  a  birthday  dinner, 
he  having  reached  la  quarantaine,  —  the  grand  Lent  of 
life  !  And  next  Saturday  —  no,  next  Sunday  —  is  my 
fifty-second  birthday.  So  slide  the  glasses  in  the  great 
magic-lantern ! 
Love  from  us  all. 


From  Charles  Sumner. 

MONTPELLIER,  March  4,  1859. 

DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Yes,  it  was  your  letter  which 
first  told  me  of  Prescott's  death.  The  next  day  I  read  it 
in  the  Paris  papers.  Taillandier  announced  it  at  the 
opening  of  his  lecture.  The  current  of  grief  and  praise  is 
everywhere  unbroken.  Perhaps  no  man,  so  much  in  peo 
ple's  mouths,  was  ever  the  subject  of  so  little  unkindness. 
How  different  his  fate  from  that  of  others  !  Something  of 
that  immunity  which  he  enjoyed  in  life  must  be  referred 
to  his  beautiful  nature,  in  which  enmity  could  not  live. 
This  death  touches  ine  much.  You  remember  that  my 
relations  with  him  had  for  years  been  of  peculiar  inti 
macy.  Every  return  to  Boston  has  been  consecrated  by 
an  evening  with  him.  I  am  sad  to  think  of  my  own 
personal  loss. 

"  Mon  cher  ami,  le  canon  perce  nos  lignes  et  les  rangs 
se  serrent  de  moment  en  moment;  cela  est  effrayant. 
Aimons-nous  jusqu'au  dernier  jour ;  et  que  celui  qui  sur- 
vivra  a  1'autre  aime  encore  et  che'rie  sa  me'moire.  Quel 
asile  plus  respectable  et  plus  doux  peut-elle  avoir  que  la 
coeur  d'un  ami  ? " 

There  is  a  charm  taken  from  Boston.  Its  east  winds 
whistle  more  coldly  round  Park  Street  corner.  They  be 
gin  to  tingle  with  their  natural,  unsubdued  wantonness. 

My  episode  here  will  soon  close.  If  I  do  not  regain  my 
health,  it  will  not  be  from  lack  of  effort.  For  three 


1859.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  63 

months  I  have  followed  my  treatment  with  daily,  un 
flinching  fidelity,  and  have  led  the  most  retired  arid  tran 
quil  life.  Lying  on  my  back,  books  have  been  my  great 
solace.  I  have  read  furiously,  —  like  the  old  Bishop  of 
Avranches,  flos  episcoporum;  or  Felton;  or  the  Abbd  Mo- 
rellet  in  the  Bastile ;  or  Scaliger.  .  .  . 

Weeks  before  your  letter  I  had  visited  Aigues-Mortes. 
If  this  were  on  the  Rhine,  it  would  be  ruined,  and  talked 
about ;  but  it  is  away  from  all  lines  of  travel.  The  old 
walls  and  the  marvellous  Tower  of  Constancy  are  in  beauti 
ful  preservation.  The  baker-poet  [Eeboul]  does  not  stand 
as  well  as  Jasmin.  The  latter  was  a  few  days  ago  in  Lyons, 
then  in  Paris.  The  beautiful  library  here  I  have  com 
pletely  ransacked.  With  a  pass-key  to  the  shelves,  I  have 
ranged  about  as  I  chose.  The  weather  all  this  winter  has 
been  charming,  —  a  perpetual  spring.  To-day  I  sat  with 
M.  Martins,  Agassiz's  friend,  in  the  open  air  in  the  shade 
of  his  garden.  But  there  is  an  end  of  all  things  ;  to 
morrow  I  start  for  Nice.  God  bless  you ! 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

C.  S. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

April  26,  1859. 

So  you  have  passed  along  the  Cornice  and  the  Riviera, 
and  are  in  Genoa.  I  only  wish  you  were  stronger,  so  as 
to  have  no  drawback  to  your  enjoyment.  Now  let  me 
tell  you  about  matters  here.  The  Howes  have  not  yet 
returned  from  the  Island  of  Cuba ;  but  Dana  has,  and  has 
written  a  book,  —  To  Cuba  and  Back.  It  is  not  yet  pub 
lished,  but  will  appear  incessament.  Palfrey  is  well ;  has 
just  got  a  letter  from  you.  His  History  [of  New  England] 
is  very  successful,  and  he  is  at  work  on  the  second  vol 
ume.  To-day  is  a  dark,  dreary  day.  I  stand  here  at  my 
desk  in  the  study,  pointing  the  tip  of  my  pen  toward  you 


64  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1859. 

and  Italy.  You  say  to  me,  as  King  Olaf  said  to  his  scald, 
"  Write  me  a  song  with  a  sword  in  every  line."  But  how 
write  war-songs,  if  there  is  to  be  no  war?  And  how 
would  it  all  rhyme  with  '  The  Arsenal  at  Springfield '  and 
your  discourse  on  the  brass  cannon  ?  which  the  astounded 
keeper  has  not  yet  forgotten,  I  dare  say.1 

What  you  quote  about  the  pere  de  famille  is  pretty 
true.  It  is  a  difficult  role  to  play ;  particularly  when,  as 
in  my  case,  it  is  united  with  that  of  oncle  d'Amerique  and 
general  superintendent  of  all  the  dilapidated  and  tumble 
down  foreigners  who  pass  this  way  ! 

The  whole  air  is  tainted  with  the  case  of  -  — .  The 
trial  is,  if  possible,  a  greater  scandal  than  the  murder. 
All  that  is  bad  in  the  profession  of  the  law,  or  rather  in 
the  practice  of  the  law,  is  in  full  development,  —  bicker 
ings,  recriminations,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Only  the  two 
prosecuting  lawyers  preserve  anything  like  dignity  or 
decency.  You  know  how  the  lad  Americans  do  things. 
Suffice  it  to  say  this  tragedy  is  becoming  a  farce  through 
their  management. 

1  See  Life,  ii.  2. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COKRESPONDENCE. 
1860-1865. 

To  Charles  Sumncr. 

January  31,  1860. 

MY  DEAR  SUMNEE,  —  January  shall  not  die,  though  he 
is  at  his  last  gasp,  without  leaving  you  something  in  his 
will;  namely,  a  letter  from  me.  It  will  not  make  you 
very  rich,  but  it  will  ease  his  conscience,  and  mine ;  and 
you  will  not  feel  hurt  at  being  cut  off  with  a  shilling. 

I  return  with  all  care  Mrs.  Tennyson's  note ;  and  send 
you  multitudinous  warnings  from  my  wife  and  myself 
to  take  better  care  of  your  Milton  autograph,  or,  by  the 
Forty  Thieves,  some  fine  morning  you  will  find  it  missing. 
It  will  be  stolen  from  under  you,  as  Sancho  Panza's  ass 
was  by  Gines  de  Pasamorite,  and  you  will  be  left  sitting 
on  the  covers.1 

We  miss  you  very  much,  and  condole  with  you  on 
Macaulay's  death,  —  and  Mrs.  Pollen's  also,  a  faithful  soul 
departed,  and  a  loss  to  us  all. 

1  This  autograph  of  Milton,  written  during  his  visit  abroad  in 
the  album  of  an  Italian  gentleman,  may  now  be  seen  at  the  Harvard 
College  Library.  It  is  in  these  words  :  — 

" if  vertne  feeble  were, 

Heaven  it  selfe  would  stoope  to  her. 
Ccelum  non  aninnim  muto  dum  trans  mare  curro. 

JOANNES  MILTONIUS,  Anglus." 
5 


66  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1860. 

George  Curtis  has  been  here  with  a  stirring  lecture. 
Both  Hillard  and  Ticknor  have  spoken  of  Macaulay  before 
the  Historical  Society,  but  I  did  not  hear  them. 

To  Charles  Sumner} 

May  1,  1860. 

"  Eldorado  "  in  the  Dakotah  tongue  would  be  Mazaskasi- 
maka,  —  as  musical  as  Massachusetts,  and  not  to  be 
thought  of  for  a  moment.  Decidedly  that  will  not  do.  Let 
us  try  again.  Omaha,  Ottawa,  names  of  tribes,  both  good. 
Either  would  do  very  well,  but  neither  is  characteristic. 
Up  to  the  present  date  I  find  nothing  better  than  Mazdska, 
which  means,  in  English,  "  money,"  -  -  the  mighty  dollar, 
even !  and  is  the  first  part  of  Mazaskasimaka.  Unfortu 
nately  the  true  Indian  accent  is  on  the  first  syllable.  I 
have  transposed  it  for  ease  of  parlance. 

May  3. 

Too  late !  I  see  by  last  evening's  paper  that  the  Ter 
ritory  is  already  called  Idaho,  —  said  to  mean  "  Gem  of 
the  Mountains."  It  certainly  does  not  in  Dakotah,  or 
what  is  the  use  of  having  a  Dakotah  dictionary  ? 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

May  8,  1860. 

I  should  doubtless  write  you  often,  if  events  often  oc 
curred  in  this  silent  land  which  I  thought  might  have  an 
interest  for  you.  But  only  look  at  our  events  !  They  are 
like  those  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  life,  —  migrations 
from  the  blue  bed  to  the  brown ! 

Here  is  one  of  more  than  usual  intensity.     A  gentle- 

1  Mr.  Sumner  had  apparently  written  to  his  friend,  asking  him  to 
propose  a  name  for  the  new  Territory  about  to  be  established,  and 
suggesting  an  Indian  equivalent  to  Eldorado. 


I860.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  67 

man  in  Europe  sends  me  a  translation  of  '  Excelsior '  in 
German  by  Hunold,  of  Innsbruck,  and  writes :  — 

"  On  the  day  his  translation  appeared  in  the  Boten  fiir  Tirol,  the 
students  of  Innsbruck,  meeting  him  in  the  street,  rushed  toward 
him,  embraced  him,  and  kissed  him  with  such  joy  and  transport  that 
he  looks  upon  that  moment  as  the  brightest  and  happiest  of  his 
life ! " 

Have  you  read  Hawthorne's  new  book  ? 1 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

June  27,  1860. 

I  hoped  to  see  you  before  going  to  Nahant;  but  that 
hope  must  be  given  up,  as  we  go  in  a  day  or  two,  and  you 
will  hardly  be  here  before  the  Fourth. 

Enclosed,  I  return  Mr.  S 's  letter,  with  regrets  that 

I  cannot  comply  with  the  request  made  in  it.     I  do  not 

know  Dean personally,  nor  even  by  letter ;  and  if  I 

should  introduce  Mr. to  him,  the  Dean  might  well 

turn  round  and  say :  "  Pray,  sir,  and  who  introduces  you  ?  " 
—  which  would  be  awkward. 

I  want  very  much  to  see  you.  Come  to  Nahant  as 
soon  as  you  can,  by  the  morning  boat,  —  a  cool  sail  and  a 
warm  welcome. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

December  12,  1860. 

Thanks  for  your  letter  of  four  lines,  one  of  which  I 
could  not  read !  Thanks  for  the  four  volumes  of  The 
Globe,  none  of  which  I  shall  read !  Thanks  for  the 
fourth  volume  of  the  Japan  Expedition,  which  you  are 
going  to  send  me ! 

1  In  his  Journal,  under  date  of  March  1,  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote : 
"  A  soft  rain  falling  all  day  long,  and  all  day  long  I  read  The  Marble 
Faun.  A  wonderful  book,  but  with  the  old  dull  pain  in  it  that 
runs  through  all  Hawthorne's  writings." 


68  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1861. 

Here  is  a  note  for  your  work  on  the  Barbary  States : 

"  The  last  piratical  expeditions  were  about  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century,  and  in  the  following  century  thraldom,  or  slavery,  was,  it  is 
understood,  abolished  by  Magnus,  the  Law  Improver."  —  LAING, 
Heimskringla,  i.  112. 

Eead,  in  the  same  work,  Sigvat's  Free-Speaking  Song 
(ii.  374).  The  description  of  the  Thing,  with  the  "  gray- 
bearded  men  in  corners  whispering,"  is  good ;  so  is 

"  Be  cautious,  with  this  news  of  treason 
Flying  about ;  give  them  no  reason." 

I  only  hope  we  shall  stand  firm. 

From  G.  S.  Trebutien.1 

BlBLIOTKEQUE  DE  CAEN,  June  20,  1861. 

SIR,  —  I  sent  you  at  the  close  of  last  month  two  vol 
umes  which  I  have  published,  and  which  I  intended  to 
follow  at  once  with  a  letter.  But  I  have  been  ill,  and 
unable  to  use  a  pen.  Even  to-day  I  must  limit  myself 
to  informing  you  of  my  having  sent  the  books,  so  that 
you  may  at  least  know  from  whom  they  come.  They  are 
the  offering  of  one  of  the  most  distant  and  most  unknown 
of  your  admirers.  I  thought  that  the  works  of  Maurice 
de  Guerin,  the  young  poet  who  died  before  his  time,  and 
who  had  given  promise  to  France  of  one  more  genius, 
were  worthy  of  your  acceptance.  I  shall  be  happy  to 
learn  that  they  have  crossed  the  ocean  in  safety,  and  that 
you  have  received  them  favorably. 

Normandy  owes  you  thanks,  and  I  would  gladly  be  the 
one  to  offer  them.     You  have  sung  of  our  old  poet  of  the 
people,  Oliver  Basselin,  —  a  great  honor  to  him. 
"  True,  his  songs  were  not  divine." 

1  The  editor  of  the  writings  of  Maurice  and  Eugenie  de  Guerin. 
The  original  letter  is  in  French. 


1862.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  69 

I  have  not  heard  that  you  ever  visited  our  province. 
Nevertheless  many  persons  have  believed  so  (and  have 
even  said  it  in  print),  by  the  manner  in  which  you  speak 
of  the  Yal  de  Vire  and  of  the  house  of  the  old  song-writer. 
Certain  it  is  that,  if  you  have  not  seen  with  your  own 
eyes  that  picturesque  spot,  you  know  it  by  that  intuition 
which  is  the  gift  of  great  poets.  At  any  rate,  I  hope  that 
if  you  come  to  France  you  will  not  forget  Normandy  and 
the  city  of  Malherbe,  and  that  I  shall  have  the  honor  of 
receiving  you  at  the  Library  of  Caen. 

Maurice  de  Gue'rin  had  a  sister,  sharer  of  his  soul  and 
his  genius.  One  day,  writing  a  letter  from  outrc-mer  to 
a  relative  in  the  Isle  of  France,  and  thinking  of  the  dangers 
which  the  letter  was  about  to  incur,  she  said :  "  Is  it  pos 
sible  that  a  leaf  of  paper  launched  upon  the  ocean  should 
arrive  at  its  address,  and  come  to  the  eye  of  my  cousin  ? 
It  is  incredible,  unless  some  angel-voyager  take  the  note 
under  his  wing."  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  hazard 
which  attends  this  letter  I  have  written.  But  I  hope 
that  some  good  spirit  of  the  seas  will  take  it  under  his 
wing  and  bear  it  to  the  author  of  'The  Two  Angels,' — 
that  poem  which  has  moved  me  so  deeply,  and  the  only 
one  in  which  I  have  felt  the  poetry  through  a  foreign 
tongue. 

Accept,  I  pray  you,  sir,  the  assurance  of  my  most 
respectful  and  devoted  sentiments. 

G.  S.  TEEBUTIEN. 


To . 

April  23,  1862. 

Your  letter  and  your  poems  have  touched  me  very 
much.  Tears  fell  down  my  cheeks  as  I  read  them,  and  I 
think  them  very  true  and  tender  expressions  of  your  sense 
of  loss. 


70  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1862. 

So  the  little  ones  fade  and  fall,  like  blossoms  wafted 
away  by  the  wind  !  But  the  wind  is  the  breath  of  God, 
and  the  falling  blossoms  perfume  the  air,  and  the  remem 
brance  of  them  is  sweet  and  sacred. 

In  our  greatest  sorrows  we  must  not  forget  that  there 
is  always  some  one  who  has  a  greater  sorrow,  or  at  all 
events  a  more  recent  one ;  and  that  may  give  us  courage, 
though  it  cannot  give  us  comfort. 

From . 


VICTORIA,  VANCOUVER  ISLAND, 
June  12,  1862. 

DEAK  ME.  LONGFELLOW,  —  A  few  days  ago  I  was  told 
an  Indian  legend,  genuine  Chimsean  (the  Chimseans  are 
a  tribe  living  close  to  Victoria),  related  by  very  old  Chim 
sean  lips  to  an  English  clergyman  here, — a  bit  of  theology 
which  instantly  put  me  in  mind  of  the  beautiful  legends 
you  have  so  gracefully  rendered  into  poetry,  and  which,  in 
the  hope  of  its  being  new  to  you,  I  cannot  resist  sending. 
One  feature  in  it  has  so  strong  an  affinity  with  the  story 
of  Eve  and  the  tree  of  knowledge  as  to  be  really  striking. 

In  starting,  I  must  remind  you  that  the  Olympian  range 
of  mountains  is  on  the  opposite  side  the  straits  of  Fula,  in 
Washington  Territory,  and  is  so  grand  and  Alpine-like  a 
chain,  the  many-peaked  summit  crowned  with  eternal 
snow,  that  no  one  knowing  it  can  wonder  that  it  should 
have  figured  in  the  legend  which  embodies  the  Chimsean 
belief  as  to  the  peopling  of  our  globe.  It  is  as  follows : 

Afar  off  in  the  land  of  Nokun,  there  beyond  the  Olym 
pian  mountains,  years  and  years  ago,  dwelt  two  women, 
the  only  beings  on  earth.  As  they  lay  side  by  side  upon 
the  ground  one  starlight  night,  the  one  said  to  the  other, 
pointing  to  the  heavens  above :  "  Oh,  how  I  should  like 
that  pale-faced  star  for  my  husband !  "  And  said  the 


1862.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  71 

other :  "  Oh,  how  I  should  like  that  red-faced  star  for 
mine ! "  And  they  were  the  two  brightest  stars  in  heaven. 
The  women  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  awoke,  and  found  them 
selves  in  the  sky  amid  the  stars ;  and  all  took  place  as 
they  had  wished.  They  were  very  happy  in  heaven,  the 
one  with  her  pale-faced  and  the  other  with  her  red-faced 
husband,  and  they  had  plenty  of  fine  things,  and  lots  of 
beds  of  onions  (the  Chimsean  gourmand's  especial  weak 
ness)  ;  but  in  the  middle  of  the  largest  bed  grew  an  im 
mensely  large  onion,  which  the  pale-face  and  the  red-face 
told  them  they  were  on  no  account  to  touch. 

But  one  day,  when  the  pale-face  and  the  red-face  were 
away  hunting,  the  two  women  went  straight  to  the  great 
onion-bed  and  pulled  at  the  great  onion.  They  pulled 
and  pulled  and  pulled,  till  they  pulled  it  right  up.  And 
below  there  was  a  great  hole;  and  peeping  through  the 
hole,  they  saw  beneath  them  the  world  they  had  left, 
looking  far,  far  away,  and  very  green  and  beautiful.  And 
straightway  they  longed  to  return  home.  Boiling  the 
great  onion  back  into  its  hole,  in  secret  and  whenever  the 
pale-face  and  the  red-face  were  safely  away  hunting,  they 
began  to  plait  what  in  course  of  time  became  a  long,  stout 
rope  of  grass  and  rushes  and  whatever  else  they  could 
find ;  and  as  they  made  it  they  carefully  hid  it  out  of  sight. 
One  day  when  they  had  plaited  a  great  quantity,  and  the 
pale-face  and  the  red-face  were  safely  away  hunting,  the 
women  pulled  up  the  great  onion  again,  and  let  the  rope 
fall  down  toward  the  earth  below.  But,  alas !  it  was  too 
short.  So  they  pulled  it  up  again  as  fast  as  ever  they 
could,  and  plaited  a  piece  more  to  it,  and  let  it  down  again  ; 
and  this  time  it  touched  the  earth  below.  Then  one  of 
the  women  slid  down  upon  it;  and  when  she  was  safely 
landed  on  the  earth  she  gave  the  rope  a  shake,  to  signify 
that  all  was  right,  and  then  the  other  woman  slid  down. 
And  then  they  gave  the  rope  a  good  pull,  and  pulled  it 


72  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1864. 

right  down,  so  that  the  pale-face  and  the  red-face  might 
not  come  after  them  to  punish  them ;  and  the  many  coils 
of  the  rope  in  falling  made  the  long  line  of  the  Olympian 
mountains  as  they  stand  to  this  day.  And  the  children 
born  of  the  two  women  grew  and  filled  the  earth  with 
people.  And,  'as  the  children  say,  that  is  all. 

From  T.  G.  Apphton. 

LONDON,  June  28,  1864. 

.  .  .  We  congratulated  each  other  on  the  ruin  of  the 
wicked  "Alabama."  The  Vice-Consul  was  in,  the  day 
before,  to  see  us,  and  he  told  me  that  only  three  men  were 
wounded  in  the  "  Kearsarge,"  none  killed ;  that  shells 
struck  the  chains  without  penetrating.  The  whole  thing 
has  produced  much  effect  here,  and  our  splendid  firing 
sounds  uncomfortable  so  near  these  shores.  There  is 
much  feeling  among  the  Americans  and  their  friends 
here  at  the  carrying  off  the  enemy  after  she  had  sur 
rendered.  The  "  Alabama  "  intended  to  try  boarding,  but 
could  not  make  it  out,  the  "  Kearsarge  "  being  the  better 
sailor. 

A  splendid  dinner  the  other  day  at  the  Benzons' ;  a 
better  I  never  ate.  I  sat  between  Browning  and  young 
Lytton,  and  had  Ernst,  the  composer,  and  Louis  Blanc 
opposite.  It  was  very  pleasant.  Browning  asked  after 
you  and  George  Curtis,  and  spoke  with  much  feeling  of 
Hawthorne,  whom  he  knew  well.  He  evidently  has  the 
very  highest  opinion  of  his  abilities.  The  Storys  are 
here,  and  a  great  comfort  to  me.  We  went  to  Walton  and 
spent  a  day.  It  was  extremely  pleasant,  and  like  the  old 
times.  We  recalled  a  thousand  past  pleasant  moments, 
and  refurbished  all  our  old  jokes.  Colonel  Hamley,  of 
Lady  Lee's  Widowhood,  was  there,  and  vowed  I  was  an  old 
friend,  so  much  had  he  heard  me  talked  of.  looked 


1865.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  73 

well;  all  the  better  for  having  tried  "Banting," — a  sys 
tem  of  thinning  introduced  here  by  an  upholsterer,  whose 
pamphlet  I  have  read.  They  have  added  a  rose-bed  to 
their  pretty  lawn,  and  it  reminded  me  of  the  old  pictures 
in  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  —  only  so  far  as  the  roses  are 
concerned,  however.  I  was  yesterday  at  the  Crystal 
Palace  to  see  a  flower-show.  How  I  wish  A.  and  the  lads 
could  see  that  "  Versailles  of  the  people,"  as  Victor  Hugo 
calls  it  in  his  new  rhapsody  about  Shakspeare,  —  a  book 
you  might  glance  at.  I  have  seen  Fechter  in  Hamlet. 
Superbly  got  up,  and  Hamlet  new  and  good.  Very  swift 
and  colloquial  in  the  dialogue ;  and,  but  for  a  kind  of  whine, 
the  best,  on  the  whole,  I  have  seen.  Great  talk  of  war 
here;  look  out  for  squalls.  There  is  much  notion  that 
England  should  not  allow  the  Danes  to  go  to  the  wall. 
A  war  would  leave  us  still  freer  to  finish  our  own.  The 
Lyells  went  last  Sunday  to  hear  [M.  D.]  Conway,  and  were 
loud  in  his  praise.  I  went  to  hear  Martineau  in  his  new 
church.  He  is  refined  and  agreeable.  There  is  no  great 
show  of  carriages  at  his  door,  as  is  the  case  always  with 
the  Unitarians. 

To  Henry  Bright  (in  Liverpool). 

February  14,  1855.1 

I  should  have  written  you  by  the  last  steamer,  but 
missed  it,  somehow  or  other;  and  so  this  will  come  to  you 
as  a  valentine.  The  pheasants  and  the  grouse,  I  am  most 
happy  to  say,  arrived  without  accident  and  in  excellent 
condition.  They  were  delicious,  particularly  the  pheas 
ants,  and  furnished  two  or  three  dinners ;  at  one  of 
which  I  had  to  rued  them,  —  Agassiz,  Lowell,  and  Apple- 
ton.  They  praised,  and  the  dinner  was  not  cold  ;  and  I 
think  the  birds,  could  they  have  foreseen  their  meeting 

1  An  error  of  insertion  discovered  too  late  to  be  corrected. 


74  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1865. 

with  such  illustrious  shades  in  this  other  world,  would 
have  been  willing  to  die. 

Our  united  thanks  to  you  for  this  banquet,  and  mine 
for  the  gift  and  the  kind  remembrance.  I  regretted  only 
that  Charles  Norton  was  not  with  us ;  he  was  not  to  be 
had  on  that  day.  He  is  not  the  "  student "  of  the  Wayside 
Inn ;  that  was  a  Mr.  Wales,  now  dead. 

The  sky  of  Europe  looks  very  dark  and  stormy ;  and 
this,  if  nothing  else,  would  be  enough  to  deter  me  from 
the  visit  I  have  sometimes  thought  of,  and  once  thought 
so  near.  We  have  five  children ;  and  I  think  I  may  have 
said  to  you  before  that  these  are  five  good  reasons  for 
staying  at  home. 

Hawthorne  writes  from  Italy  that  we  may  look  for  him 
in  the  summer.  He  has  had  a  gloomy  winter  in  Borne, 
and  does  not  like  his  residence  there.  He  thinks  that 
England  has  spoiled  him  for  the  Continent.  See  the  mis 
chief  your  hospitality  has  done ! 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  26,  1865. 

Now  is  a  good  time  to  come  to  Cambridge.  Do  not 
procrastinate  in  the  coming;  but  in  the  going  as  much 
as  you  like.  The  weather,  to  be  sure,  is  not  much  better 
than  Catawba  wine,  with  a  certain  exaggerated  flavor  of 
something  very  fine.  But  we  can  turn  the  world  outside 
in,  and  so  be  pretty  comfortable.  .  .  .  To-morrow  I  shall 
be  fifty-eight  years  old.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  celebrate 
the  day.  I  will  postpone  the  celebration  till  you  come. 

The  Inferno  is  a  very  handsome  book.1  I  have  a  copy 
for  you. 

1  The  first  edition  of  his  Translation,  published  in  1867  ;  but  a 
few  copies  were  printed  in  1865. 


1865.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  75 


From  G.  P.  Marsh.1 

TURIN,  May  15,  1865. 

DEAE  SIR, —  Two  or  three  days  after  mine  of  the  2d 
was  posted  I  received  your  favor  of  April  8,  and  I  now 
have  the  pleasure  of  enclosing  herewith  the  official  ac 
knowledgment  of  the  receipt  of  the  volume  presented  by 
you  to  the  Dante  Centenario,  together  with  a  copy  of  a 
letter  with  which  I  had  accompanied  your  donation.  As 
I  had  the  translation  in  my  hands  only  a  very  few  hours, 
I  could  only  examine  at  a  hurried  moment,  here  and 
there,  a  passage  which  occurred  to  me ;  but  I  can  truly 
say  that  the  expressions  I  used  concerning  it,  in  writing 
to  Signer  Corsini,  fall  short  of  what  I  should  very  con 
scientiously  have  said  if  I  had  been  addressing  an  Ameri 
can  or  English  scholar.  I  was  unable  to  attend  the  festa, 
but  shall  go  to  Florence  in  a  week.  I  am,  dear  sir, 
Very  faithfully  yours, 

GEOPGE  P.  MARSH. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  25,  1865. 

Two  days  ago  I  sent  you  some  reviews  of  the  new 
translations  of  Dante.  Mr.  Ford's  I  have  not  seen.  To- 

1  Mr.  Marsh,  the  accomplished  philological  scholar,  was  the 
American  Minister  in  Italy  at  the  time  of  the  celebration  of  the  six 
hundredth  anniversary  of  Dante's  birth,  to  which  Mr.  Longfellow  had 
sent  a  copy  of  his  translation  of  the  Inferno,  in  advance  of  its  pub 
lication  (followed,  of  course,  by  the  other  volumes).  In  forwarding 
it  Mr.  Marsh  had  written  :  "  I  am  persuaded  that  the  Committee 
will  receive  this  first  American  reproduction  of  the  great  poem  —  a 
translation  most  valuable  as  well  for  its  felicity  of  expression  as  for 
the  exactness  with  which  my  distinguished  compatriot  has  had  the 
ability  to  render,  in  a  language  so  foreign  to  that  of  the  original,  the 


76  CORRESPONDENCE.  [1865. 

day  I  send  you  a  curious  paragraph  about  Dante's  bones.1 
Can  it  be  true  ?  The  same  thing  happened  to  Shake 
speare,  and  pretty  much  in  the  same  way.  Irving  men 
tions  it  in  the  Sketch-book ;  though  the  old  sexton  who 
looked  into  the  hole  "  could  see  neither  coffin  nor  bones, 
only  dust." 

We  shall  soon  be  going  to  Nahant,  and  when  once 
there  I  become  as  fixed  as  the  rocks  themselves.  I 
should  like  to  visit  you  at  East  Greenwich,  but  am 
afraid  to  promise. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  20,  1865. 

I  was  just  leaving  Nahant  when  I  received  your  last 
sorrowful  letter,  and  have  not  found  a  moment  to  answer 
it.  I  am  now  going  down  to  the  Library  to  consult  "  Livy, 
who  errs  not,"  about  that  famous  Battle  of  the  Eings,  and 
scribble  this  to  post  on  the  way.  I  am  most  truly 
grieved  to  hear  of  your  illness,  and  that  of  your  house 
hold.  It  must  be  very  distressing  to  you.  But  married 
men  must  have  courage,  and  always  courage.  I  know  too 
well  what  it  is  to  carry  my  heart  in  my  mouth  not  to 
sympathize  deeply  with  you.  Thinking  of  you  in  my 
dressing-room  last  night,  where  we  have  so  often  discussed 
passages  of  Dante  while  sharing  the  hot  and  cold  water 
between  us,  it  came  into  my  mind  that  a  translation  of 

thought  of  Dante's  sovereign  genius  —  as  a  contribution  most  fitting 
the  solemnity  of  the  Centenary,  and  at  the  same  time  as  a  worthy 
homage  from  the  New  World  to  one  of  the  chief  glories  of  the 
country  of  its  discoverer." 

1  In  some  reparations  which  were  making  about  the  Braccioforte 
Chapel  at  Ravenna,  in  the  month  of  May  of  this  year,  the  workmen 
came  upon  a  coffin  containing  bones  which  were  identified  as  those 
of  Dante. 


1365.]  CORRESPONDENCE.  77 

Dante's  letters  would  make  a  good  paper  for  the  Atlantic, 
and  that  yours  is  the  pen  to  do  it.  It  would  not  take 
you  more  than  a  week,  if  I  correctly  estimate  the  amount 
of  matter  from  memory,  and  would  be  an  agreeable 
change.  I  have  this  morning  written  to  Fields  about 
it.  Be  of  good  cheer ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

JOURNAL  AND    LETTERS. 
18G6. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  7,  1866. 

I  sent  you  the  History  some  days  ago;  but  not  the 
fenders.  When  I  looked  at  them  I  saw  all  your  darlings 
tumbling  over  them  into  the  fire,  and  determined  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  a  Slaughter  of  the  Innocents. 
Altogether  too  low  and  unsafe.  You  can  do  better  in  the 
Judenstrasse,  when  you  come.  Meanwhile  I  will  tell  the 
little  man  here  to  be  on  the  lookout.  Let  me  advise 
you  also  to  take  an  arm-chair  instead  of  the  lounge,  which 
is  an  ugly  and  inconvenient  piece  of  furniture. 

The  little  girls  are  highly  delighted  with  your  contri 
bution  to  The  Secret ;  and  a  special  extra  number  of  that 
popular  journal  is  to  be  devoted  to  it.  Not  every  contri 
butor  is  treated  with  such  distinguished  regard. 

Dante  moves  slowly,  but  surely.  Next  Wednesday  we 
have  canto  ix.  and  perhaps  x.  I  have  just  got,  of  Norton, 
Covino's  Descrizione  Geographica  dell'  Italia,  ad  Illustra- 
zione  della  Divina  Commedia.  It  is  difficult  to  navigate 
Dante's  rivers  and  harbors  without  some  such  pilot. 


January  9.     At  Dante  Club,  only  Norton  and  myself. 
Lowell  excuses  himself. 


]  866.1  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  79 

10th.  Went  up  to  see  Lowell.  He  read  me  a  beauti 
ful  poem,  '  What  Rabbi  Jehosha  said,'  —  a  Rabbinical 
legend,  which  he  was  just  sending  to  the  Nation.  After 
dinner,  a  grazier,  from  Springfield,  Illinois,  President  Lin 
coln's  town,  called  to  see  Washington's  headquarters. 

12th.  Cogswell  and  T.  at  dinner.  Lowell  could  not 
come,  on  account  of  his  sore  throat,  but  writes  his  excuse 
in  some  funny  verses  on  a  claret  gargle  which  I  had 
recommended  to  him. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  15,  1866. 

As  Kiernan  has  no  good  arm-chair,  nor  any  prospect 
of  one,  I  told  him  this  morning  to  send  you  the  green 
lounge,  that  you  may  lie  down  and  meditate  on  the  fenders, 
of  which  he  is  in  hot  pursuit.  For  the  lounge,  you  are  to 
pay  nothing  but  the  freight,  which  I  forgot. 

We  miss  you  at  the  Dante  Club,  which  goes  singing  on 
its  way,  though  diminished  in  numbers.  Last  Wednes 
day  only  Charles  Norton  and  myself  were  present,  Lowell 
being  kept  at  home  by  a  sore  throat.  Whereupon  I  sent 
him  the  enclosed  prescription  in  Italian.  The  lines  will 
amuse  you  if  you  like  nonsense  verses.  [See  p.  436.] 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

January  17,  1866. 

I  hardly  know  which  is  most  revolting,  —  the  article 
sent  you  in  a  box,  or  that  served  up  for  you  on  the 
dirty  Round  Table.  Each  shows  about  the  same  amount 
of  barbarism,  and  each  is  equally  harmless  to  yourself 
and  discreditable  to  the  author.  So  let  them  pass  away, 
among  the  things  forgotten. 

Meanwhile,  it  grows  more  and  more  evident  that  we 
shall  have  no  peace  in  the  country  till  your  doctrines 


80  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1866. 

prevail.  All  accounts  from  the  South  betray  a  deplorable 
state  of  feeling  toward  the  negro. 

I  have  nothing  new  to  write  you,  not  having  been  in 
town  since  the  day  of  the  "Tattered  Flags,"  —  which  was 
a  most  impressive  occasion,  —  a  month  ago,  or  more. 

Dante  marches  on  slowly,  and  with  decorum.  In 
printing,  —  or  rather,  stereotyping,  —  I  have  now  reached 
the  tenth  canto  of  Paradiso.  A  little  club  meets  here 
every  Wednesday  evening,  —  Lowell,  Norton,  and  myself ; 
with  sometimes  an  outsider  or  two.  We  go  over  a  canto 
critically,  and  then  have  a  supper.  I  wish  we  could  have 
you  with  us.  Take  down  your  Dante,  and  read  the  be 
ginning  of  Paradiso  xi. 


17th.  Dante  Club.  Lowell,  Norton,  Fields,  T.  Para 
diso  xi.  Great  discussion  about  the  meaning  of  in  basso 
in  the  third  line,  etc. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  18,  1866. 

In  Paradiso  xi.,  line  3,  does  in  lasso  imply  motion 
downward,  or  simply  motion  below  ?  Is  it  to  be  rendered 
"  downward  beat  your  wings,"  or  "beat  your  wings  below  "  ? 
This  is  one  of  the  points  we  discussed  last  night.  Another 
was,  adopting  the  reading  ricerna,  not  discerna,  in  line  22, 
—  whether  he  sifted  it  fine  or  coarse.  A  third  was,  per 
diritto  segno,  line  120,  —  whether  it  refers  to  the  stars  he 
steered  by,  or  simply  means  "  straight  upon  its  course," 
or  "in  the  right  course."  And  fourthly,  and  finally,  in 
line  138  shall  one  read  il  Correggier,  "  the  Dominican,"  or 
il  correger,  "  the  reproof "  ?  Do  not  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  hunt  these  matters  through  various  editions ; 
but  if  one  rendering  strikes  you  as  more  simple  arid 


1366.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  81 

natural  than  another,  please  answer  as  follows,  without 
giving  any  reasons,  or  even  filling  out  the  sentences :  — 

1.  Downward.  2.  Sift  fine.  3.  Eight  course.  4.  Ee- 
proof.  Or  the  reverse,  as  the  case  may  be.  This  is  criti 
cism  made  easy. 

In  a  paper  which  I  send  you  to-day,  you  will  find  some 
of  your  own  views  pretty  vigorously  stated,  on  the  subject 
of  reprints  of  English  notices.  The  abuse  of  Sumner  is 
simply  atrocious ;  it  must  come  from  a  very  vulgar  mind. 
Burn  it. 


22d.  Note  from  Fields,  who  likes  the  new  sonnets 
ii.  and  in.,  '  On  Translating  Dante,'  and  wishes  to  print 
them  in  the  Atlantic. 

28th.  Dante  Club ;  Paradiso  xxii.  Norton,  Lowell, 
Fields,  Akers,  and  Mr.  Howells,  —  formerly  consul  at 
Venice,  poet  and  prose-writer ;  a  very  clever  and  culti 
vated  young  man.1 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  9,  1866. 

This  is  a  lovely  winter  morning.  I  cannot  tire  looking 
out  of  the  window  at  the  brown  branches  against  the 
colorless  gray  sky.  The  air  is  windless,  and  the  snow 
falling  gently ;  the  nearest  glimpse  we  can  have  of  crea 
tion,  the  beautiful  something  that  comes  from  nothing,  — 
the  crystallization  of  air  ! 

Please  read  this  as  a  sonnet,  and  pass  on. 

I  wish  all  things  would  go  on  smoothly  in  this  world. 
Now,  here  is  our  good  Fields  frightened  at  the  length  of 
the  Dante  letters.  But  at  the  last  Dante  Club,  Lowell 
and  Norton,  as  well  as  myself,  were  so  positive  that  they 
ought  to  go  into  the  Magazine,  that  he  seemed  to  take 

1  But  lately  come  to  Cambridge,  as  will  be  inferred. 
6 


82  LETTERS.  [1866. 

heart.  I  confess  it  is  a  quality  of  food  not  adapted  to  the 
great  mass  of  Magazine  readers.  But  I  trust  the  Atlantic 
has  some  judicious  readers  who  like  to  have  some  timber 
in  the  building,  and  not  all  clapboards.  Norton  has 
translated  the  Vita  Nuova,  and  is  translating  the  Convito. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  18,  1866. 

"  The  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names "  begin 
again  to  cry  with  constant  iteration,  "  When  is  Mr.  Greene 
coming  ?  "  I  am  then  reminded  that  you  promised  to  be 
here  on  my  birthday.  Moreover,  Howe  has  just  asked  me 
to  dine  with  him  on  the  convenient  "  some  day  "  to  be 
appointed  by  the  guest.  ("  Vinum  non  haleo"  he  says, 
"  but  a  warm  welcome.")  Whereupon  I  make  answer 
and  say,  "  I  am  expecting  Greene ;  wait  a  little,  and  we 
will  come  together."  This  pleases  him,  and  he  writes 
you  the  enclosed.  Then  there  is  the  Dante  meeting  on 
Wednesday  evening,  and  the  Saturday  Club  dinner  close 
upon  us ;  and,  putting  all  things  together,  now  is  the  time 
to  come.  I  want  you  also  to  sign  a  petition  for  an  inter 
national  copyright,  which  is  lying  on  my  desk,  and  which 
I  will  keep  as  long  as  possible. 

Have  you  read  Sumner's  speech  ?  I  have  not,  except 
in  part,  from  newspapers.  I  do  not  know  about  the 
details,  but  I  am  sure  of  his  fidelity. 

To  G.  W.  Gre&ne. 

March  20,  1866. 

You  will  certainly  think  that  this  is  the  land  of  fu 
nerals.  We  have  just  buried  our  old  and  dear  friend 
Sparks,  and  now  another  friend,  whom  I  saw  at  Sparks's 
funeral  full  of  life  and  strength,  is  dead.1  Vespasian  died 

1  Charles  Beck,  Ph.  D.,  for  many  years  Professor  of  Latin  in 
Harvard  College. 


1866.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  83 

standing ;  Dr.  Beck  died  on  horseback.  Yesterday  after 
noon,  as  he  was  riding  with  a  party  of  friends,  he  reeled  in 
the  saddle.  He  was  caught  by  some  one  of  the  party,  car 
ried  home,  and  died  in  the  course  of  the  evening  without 
any  consciousness  after  the  attack.  It  was  apoplexy. 
He  is  a  great  loss  to  us,  —  a  man  of  convictions,  and  who 
had  the  courage  of  his  convictions  and  always  acted  up 
to  them ;  a  most  excellent,  sincere,  just,  charitable,  good 
man  ;  and  a  thoroughly  loyal  man  in  every  sense  of  the 
word ;  who,  in  the  Eebellion,  wished  to  serve  as  a  foot- 
soldier,  —  to  his  honor  be  it  remembered,  • —  and  was  only 
refused  on  account  of  his  age.  Cambridge  will  soon  be 
stripped  of  all  the  Old  Guard.  When  Sumner  returns  he 
will  find  it  more  of  "  a  shell "  than  ever,  —  a  flattering 
phrase  which  he  sometimes  uses  in  speaking  to  me. 


April  1.  Easter  Sunday.  I  always  think,  in  connec 
tion  with  its  greater  significance,  of  Virgil  and  Dante 
emerging  on  the  shores  of  Purgatory. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  1,  1866. 
This  is  Easter  morning,  with  all  its 

"Dolce  color  d'oriental  zaffiro  ; " 

and  I  send  you   the  salutation  and  benediction  of  the 
day. 

In  worldly  matters,  I  send  you  Deeds,  not  words ;  or, 
better  to  speak,  good  deed  and  word  intermingled.  On 
account  of  the  weather,  I  could  not  go  to  the  Notary 
Public  (in  this  case  the  Eecording  Angdl  of  Ehode  Island, 
as  you  will  see  by  his  signature)  until  yesterday,  when 
the  whole  matter  was  settled,  signed,  sealed,  and  deliv 
ered.  And  if  you  have  as  much  pleasure  in  having  it 


84  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1866. 

done  as  I  have  in  doing  it,  this  will  be  a  pleasant  Easter.1 
I  must  go  out  and  breathe  the  beautiful  air  and  "expati 
ate,"  like  Milton's  bees  and  Dante's  lark. 

Where  shall  I  find  the  best  account  of  Monte  Cassino  ? 


2d.  I  meet  in  the  street  some  young  ladies,  who  ask 
if  "they  may  shake  hands  with"  me.  Bring  them  in, 
with  a  gentleman  and  lady  who  seem  to  have  charge  of 
the  party,  to  see  the  house.  They  are  from  Philadelphia ; 
but  I  do  not  learn  their  names. 

3d.  I  have  to  go  to  town  on  business,  and  hope  it 
may  not  happen  again  for  a  long  while.  Loring  Moody  [a 
philanthropist  and  philozoist]  calls,  —  the  man  with  the 
beautiful  soul  and  beautiful  face. 

May  1.     A  bright,  warm,  lovely  May-day.     The  chil 
dren  have  a  May-pole  in  the  garden  ;  and  are  busy  putting 
up  a  tent.     It  is  half-past  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  have  just  * 
finished  the  Notes  to  the  Purgatorio. 

10th.     "  Sleep,  sleep  to-day,  tormenting  cares 

Of  earth  and  folly  born  ; 
Ye  shall  not  dim  the  light  that  streams 
From  this  celestial  morn." 

31st.  Dined  at  Mr.  Forceythe  Wilson's  with  Emerson 
and  Rev.  Dr.  Bartol.2  In  the  afternoon  took  to  the  printer 
the  last  canto  of  Paradiso. 

June  1.     A  lovely,  sad  day. 

2d.    Darley  has  made  some  illustrations  for  'Evangeline.' 

13th.  The  last  Dante  reading.  Lowell,  Greene, 
Holmes,  Howells,  Furness,  and  F.  Wilson.  Paradiso 
xxxiii.  A  very  pleasant  supper,  which  did  not  break 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  had  purchased  and   presented  to  his  friend  a 
house  in  East  Greenwich. 

2  Mr.  Wilson  was  a  young  poet  of  promise  then  in  Cambridge, 
who  died  soon  after. 


1866.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  85 

up  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  it  Greene  and 
I  sat  talking  in  the  study  till  three.  The  day  was  dawn 
ing  and  the  birds  singing  when  we  went  to  bed. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

July  1,  1866. 

Your  letter  reached  me  yesterday ;  and  I  am  glad  to 
hear  that  you  are  surrounded  with  the  pleasant  sounds 
of  building  a  home.  Nest-building,  ship-building,  bridge- 
building,  house-building,  —  all  pleasant,  though  sometimes 
noisy ! 

I  have  left  the  little  girls  in  Portland,  where  I  passed  a 
day  or  two  with  them ;  and,  among  other  things,  had  a 
sail  down  Casco  Bay  through  the  wooded  islands,  and 
wished  you  there.  We  go  to  Nahant  on  the  fifth ;  and  if 
you  find  the  hammering  about  your  ears  too  bad  you  must 
take  your  carpet-bag  in  hand  and  run  down  to  see  us. 
Bring  Fields  with  you. 

Sumner  has  gone  back  to  Washington  and  is  now 
simmering  in  the  dust  and  heat  of  that  incipient  city. 
I  wish  he  were  free.  This  relapse  is  a  warning  that  he 
can  no  longer  work  day  and  night. 


July  11.  Nahant.  Charles  sailed  from  here  in  the 
yacht  "  Alice,"  with  Clark  and  Stanfield  [for  a  voyage 
across  the  Atlantic  in  a  vessel  of  fifty  tons]. 

Augusts.  A  message  by  Atlantic  cable.  The  "Alice" 
reached  the  Isle  of  Wight  in  nineteen  days. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  July  23,  1866. 

It  is  rather  dreary  and  doleful  at  Nahant  this  year,  and 
I  hope  you  will  soon  show  yourself.  I  do  not  get  much 


86  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1866. 

work  out  of  myself  here,  and  enjoy  talking  on  the  windy 
verandas  more  than  writing. 

I  have  been  in  Portland,  since  the  fire.1  Desolation, 
desolation,  desolation !  It  reminded  me  of  Pompeii,  "  that 
sepult  city."  The  old  family  house  was  not  burned,  the 
track  of  the  fire  passing  just  below  it. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  July  29,  1866. 

I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you  to  come  now.  After 
the  middle  of  August,  A.  is  expecting  four  of  her  school 
girl  friends,  and  we  shall  be  crowded.  Bring  some  new 
chapters  of  the  Biography,2  and  we  will  have  a  quiet  and 
delightful  interchange  of  thought  on  this  and  many  other 
matters  ;  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  you  like  Nahant ; 
and,  as  Chaucer  says,  — 

"  And  ded  and  quicke  be  ever  yours 
Late,  erly  and  at  alle  houres." 

My  house  is  only  five  minutes  walk  from  the  steam 
boat-landing,  and  on  the  same  southern  shore.  Another 
reason  for  coming  soon  is  the  moon  !  The  nights  are 
divine. 

Have  you  Scipio's  Dream  in  English  ?     If  so,  bring  it. 


September  14.  Eeturned  from  Nahant.  Find  on  my 
table  two  books  of  poems  by  H.  A.  Kawes  of  Trinity, 
Cambridge,  intensely  Eoman  Catholic.  Also  a  volume  of 
poems  by  Robert  Leighton  of  Liverpool,  very  liberal  and 
Unitarian. 

1  A  fire  which,  on  the  4th  of  July  devastated  a  large  part  of  the 
city. 

2  Mr.  Greene  was  engaged  upon  a  Life  of  his  grandfather,  General 
Nathaniel  Greene  of  the  army  of  the  Revolution. 


1866.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  87 

16th.  After  chapel,  went  to  Lowell's.  He  has  nothing 
to  do  in  college  now  but  to  lecture.  He  is  at  work  on  a 
political  article  for  the  North  American. 

18th.  In  town.  Bought  sundry  articles  for  Christmas 
presents.  There  is  nothing  like  being  in  season. 

19th.  Corrected  proofs  and  wrote  letters.  Dined  at 
Mr.  Hooper's,  to  meet  Baron  Gerolt,  the  Prussian  Minister, 
a  precise  old  gentleman  with  a  good  deal  of  Prussian 
rigidity. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  28,  1866. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  this  morning  stung 
by  a  wasp.  He  alighted  on  my  fore-finger,  and  without 
provocation  whipped  out  his  rapier  and  gave  me  such  a 
thrust  that  it  has  almost  paralyzed  my  hand.  The  pain 
went  to  my  elbow,  and  I  had  a  taste  of  galvanism  on  the 
tip  of  my  tongue.  This  being  a  new  experience  and  a  new 
sensation,  I  record  it  here,  and  proceed. 

Your  entanglement  in  the  thickets  of  1778  is  not  un 
like  mine  at  this  moment  in  the  tenth  canto  of  Paradiso, 
among  the  innumerable  saints.  My  Notes  on  that  canto 
will  amaze  you.  They  are  almost  as  voluminous  as  the 
writings  of  Albertus  Magnus,  which  fill  twenty-one  vol 
umes  folio.  However,  I  have  got  through,  or  nearly  so ; 
but  have  found  it  pretty  hard  work  to  compress  Thomas 
Aquinas,  St.  Francis,  and  the  rest,  into  their  several  nut 
shells. 

Sumner  is  busy,  at  work  on  a  lecture  which  he  is  to 
deliver  on  Tuesday  next,  —  and  on  Tuesday  last  had  only 
begun.  What  confidence  Sumner  has  in  Sumner  !  I 
would  not  trust  H.  W.  L.  to  that  amount,  nor  would  you, 

G.  w.  a. 


88  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1866. 

Ernest  will  be  back  in  November,  for  his  twenty-first 
birth-day.  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  combine  that  with 
Kistori. 

Let  me  close  with  a  blossom  from  St.  Bonaventura. 
"  The  best  perfection  of  a  religious  man  is  to  do  common 
things  in  a  perfect  manner.  A  constant  fidelity  in  small 
things  is  a  great  and  heroic  virtue." 


October  6.  Parmenides  and  Brissus  [Paradiso  xiii.] 
must  wait.  Instead  of  writing  of  them  I  was  obliged  to 
go  to  town.  This  evening  I  expect  Carl  Rosa,  Hatton,  and 
Mr.  Mills  to  make  some  music,  and  one  or  two  friends  to 
hear  them. 

17th.  A  beautiful  day  it  is ;  full  of  sunshine,  and 
all  the  trees  lighted  like  torches.  A  stranger  called  here 
to-day,  to  see  Washington's  Headquarters.  He  asked  me 
if  Shakespeare  did  not  live  somewhere  about  here.  I  told 
him  I  knew  no  such  person  in  this  neighborhood.1 

19th.  Warm  and  splendid ;  all  the  fields  and  roads 
bordered  with  red  and  gold,  like  an  illuminated  missal. 

28th.  Hep  worth  Dixon  called,  and  passed  an  hour  this 
afternoon.  An  ardent  temperament  and  a  great  talker. 
He  is  editor  of  the  London  Athenceum,  which  has  been 
too  full  of  sneers  at  us  poor  outsiders. 

30th.     Rain  at  last,  and  it  seems  to  enjoy  itself  greatly. 

November  30.  The  south  wind  whistling  through  the 
keyhole,  and  roaring  over  the  chimney.  I  have  just 
finished  the  last  Note  to  Dante ;  eleven  in  the  forenoon. 

December  16.  Bayard  Taylor  came  to  dinner,  and  the 
young  Comte  de  Lubersac.  After  dinner,  Norton  came  in 

1  At  another  time,  a  man  who  came  to  the  house  in  Portland  to 
make  some  repairs,  inquired  "  if  a  Mr.  Shakespeare,  or  some  such 
name,  was  not  born  there."  It  would  appear  that  to  some  persons, 
as  to  Sir  Topas,  "  a  poet  is  —  a  poet." 


1866.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  89 

with  Baron  M ,  a  young  Hollander,  who  brings  me 

an  introduction. 


To  Charles  Sumner. 

December  18,  1866. 

This  is  a  business  letter.  I  want  you  to  take  up  the 
copyright  question,  and  to  introduce  a  Bill  in  the  Senate, 
providing  "  that  any  copyright  hereafter  taken  out  in  Eng 
land  or  in  any  of  her  colonies,  shall  be  valid  in  the  United 
States,  on  condition  that  England  will  pass  a  similar  law 
in  reference  to  copyright  taken  out  in  the  United  States." 
This  seems  to  me  to  cover  the  whole  ground,  and  to  be 
simple  and  practicable.  I  wish  you  would  consult  Sir 
Frederick  Bruce  on  the  subject ;  and  if  you  are  too  busy,  or 
have  no  inclination  to  move  in  the  matter,  can  you  tell  me 
of  any  one  who  will  ?  If  I  were  a  senator,  there  is  no 
measure  with  which  I  should  be  more  eager  to  associate 
my  name.  Think  upon  it  and  reply.  As  to  limitation  of 
time,  when  any  copyright  expired  in  the  country  in  which 
it  was  taken  out,  it  should  expire  in  the  other.  This  is 
the  best  plan  I  can  think  of,  and  I  hope  you  will  be 
interested  in  it.1 

19th.  First  of  the  Dante  Club  meetings  for  the  winter. 

Lowell,  Norton,  Baron  M ,  Fields.  Discussed  various 

points  in  Inferno  i.  ii.  The  Baron  is  an  intelligent  and 
agreeable  young  man,  of  Scotch  ancestry. 

25th.  All  holidays  and  anniversaries  are  so  sad  to  me. 
I  almost  sink  under  the  burden. 

26th.  Dante  Club.  Lowell,  Norton,  Ho  wells,  and 
Fields. 

1  Mr.  Sumner  answered  that  the  subject  of  copyright  was  before 
the  Committee  on  Foreign  Relations,  of  which  he  was  chairman,  and 
that  he  hoped  to  do  something  for  it.  Sir  Frederick  Bruce  was  then 
English  minister  at  Washington.  He  died  the  next  year,  in  Boston. 


90  LETTERS.  [1866. 

To  Romeo  Cantagalli.1 

1866. 

DEAK  SIR, —  I  have  had  the  honor  of  receiving  your 
letter  of  the  18th  inst.,  with  the  Diploma  and  Cross  of 
the  Order  of  SS.  Maurizio  and  Lazzaro. 

If,  as  an  American  citizen,  a  Protestant,  and  Eepublican, 
I  could  consistently  accept  such  an  Order  of  Knighthood, 
there  is  no  one  from  whom  I  would  more  willingly  receive 
it  than  from  the  Eestorer  of  the  Unity  of  Italy, — a  sacred 
cause,  which  has,  and  always  has  had,  my  most  sincere 
and  fervent  sympathy. 

I  trust,  therefore,  that  you  will  not  regard  it  as  the 
slightest  disrespect  either  to  your  Sovereign  or  to  yourself 
if,  under  these  circumstances,  I  feel  myself  constrained  to 
decline  the  honor  proposed. 

With  expressions  of  great  regard  and  consideration,  I 
remain  your  obedient  servant. 

1  Signer  Cantagalli,  the  Italian  Charge  d'affaires  in  Washington, 
had  written  Mr.  Longfellow  :  "  It  is  nay  agreeable  duty  to  announce 
to  you  that  his  Majesty  the  King,  my  Sovereign,  has  deigned  to  con 
fer  upon  you,  in  token  of  the  high  esteem  in  which  he  holds  your 
talents,  the  grade  of  Cavaliere  in  his  Order  of  SS.  Maurizio  and 
Lazzaro."  To  Mr.  Sumner  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  that  he  "did  not 
think  it  appropriate  to  a  Republican  and  a  Protestant  to  receive  a 
Catholic  Order  of  Knighthood ; "  and  added,  "  I  wonder  how  this 
matter  has  found  vent ;  I  have  tried  to  keep  it  secret." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 

1867-1868. 

May  1.  Dante  Club ;  the  last  of  the  season.  Norton, 
Greene,  Howells,  Fields,  and  Whipple. 

4th.  Heard  Agassiz  lecture.  He  had  an  introduction 
on  the  duties  of  teacher  and  taught ;  and  made  a  strong 
protest  against  the  pupil's  running  off  with  the  master's 
ideas  and  publishing  them  as  his  own.  Evening,  at  Nor 
ton's.  Vita  Nuova.  A  very  pleasant  evening  and  supper. 

5th.  On  my  walk  met  Henry  James,  who  said  some 
pleasant  words  about  the  translation  of  Dante ;  and  after 
wards  Cogswell,  who  did  the  same. 

6th.  Showed  Fields  a  new  sonnet  which  I.  wrote  last 
night,  and  which  is  to  go  into  the  Purgatory.  The  Dante 
work  is  now  all  done,  —  the  last  word,  and  the  final  cor 
rections,  all  in  the  printer's  hands. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

May  6,  1867. 

I  believe  you  have  my  copy  of  Flaxman's  Dante.  Please 
tell  me  if  it  be  so ;  for  I  cannot  find  it,  and  must  have 
leot  it,  and  I  may  as  well  begin  with  you  as  with  any 
other  friend. 

Notwithstanding  what  you  say,  the  sonnet  is  poor  and 
feeble.  It  stands  well  enough  upon  its  feet,  but  it  has  no 
legs,  no  body,  no  soul. 


92  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1807. 

Poor !     You  must  try  to  get  some  people  to  take 

tickets,  whether  they  go  to  the  lectures  or  not.     This  is  a 
real  tragedy,  and  a  real  charity. 


To  Robert  Ferguson. 

May  8,  1867. 

It  was  only  yesterday  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  re 
ceiving  your  charming  birthday  present,  the  Delia  Crusca 
edition  of  the  Commedia.  It  is  a  cara  gioia,  a  precious 
jewel  of  a  book,  which  I  value  very  highly,  for  its  own 
sake  and  for  yours.  You  could  not  have  thought  of  a 
more  acceptable  gift ;  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  it,  and  for  the  kind  remembrance. 

I  suppose  that  before  this  time  you  have  received  a 
copy  of  my  translation  of  the  Inferno.  The  second  volume 
will  be  out  this  month,  and  the  third  in  June.  They  will 
be  duly  sent  you,  with  copies  for  Miss  F—  -  and  Mr. 
Dayman,  which  I  took  the  liberty  of  having  directed  to 
your  care.  The  only  merit  my  book  has  is  that  it  is 
exactly  what  Dante  says,  and  not  what  the  translator 
imagines  he  might  have  said  if  he  had  been  an  English 
man.  In  other  words,  while  making  it  rhythmic,  I  have 
endeavored  to  make  it  also  as  literal  as  a  prose  translation. 

We  are  all  well  at  the  Craigie  House,  and  are  beginning 
to  think  what  we  shall  do  this  summer.  The  great  point 
is,  shall  it  be  Nahant  or  England  ?  How  it  will  be  settled 
I  do  not  know ;  perhaps,  by  accident  or  fate,  —  certainly, 
by  Providence. 


llth.  Went  with  the  girls  down  the  harbor  in  the 
steam  revenue  cutter  Pawtuxet,  to  the  outer  light,  and  the 
outer  islands  —  the  Brewsters.  Professors  Peirce,  Agassiz, 
and  Goodwin  were  of  the  party ;  Judge  Eussell  the  Col 
lector,  and  Captain  Hockley,  of  the  China,  the  English 


1867.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  93 

steamer.  Returning,  we  stopped  near  the  school-ship, 
which  was  crowded  with  boys,  all  singing  an  evening 
hymn.  Then  they  manned  the  yards  and  gave  us  three 
cheers,  which  we  returned.  A  very  striking  sight.  Then 
we  went  on  board  the  China ;  and  so  ended  a  day  of  great 
delight  to  the  girls,  which  they  will  not  soon  forget,— 
particularly  the  jolly  captain's  cry  for  beer :  "  Steward, 
some  beah  ;  I  'm  dying  for  some  beah" 


To  Ferdinand  Freiligratli. 

May  24,  1867. 

Of  late  years  I  have  almost  given  up  writing  letters ; 
and  when  one  gets  out  of  the  habit  of  doing  a  thing,  it 
becomes  difficult. 

From  time  to  time,  as  I  have  published  a  book  in 
London,  I  have  never  failed  to  tell  Eoutledge  to  send  a 
copy  to  you.  I  hope  he  has  always  done  so ;  and  that  you 
have  received  the  Wayside  Inn,  the  Flower  de  Luce,  and 
lastly,  the  translation  of  the  Divina  Commedia,  of  which 
two  volumes  have  been  published,  and  the  third  will 
appear  in  June. 

I  hope,  my  dear  Freiligrath,  that  we  shall  some  day 
meet  again ;  and  I  wish  it  could  be  on  the  Rhine.  I 
always  remember  our  last  evening  at  St.  Goar,  when  we 
paced  to  and  fro  on  the  banks  of  the  river  till  near  mid 
night  ;  and  all  that  we  said.  I  have  always  loved  you, 
and  never  for  a  moment  has  my  feeling  abated  or  changed. 
I  beg  you  to  write  me  about  yourself,  about  your  dear 
wife,  about  your  dear  children. 

Of  what  I  have  been  through,  during  the  last  six  years, 
I  dare  not  venture  to  write  even  to  you ;  it  is  almost  too 
much  for  any  man  to  bear  and  live.  I  have  taken  refuge 
in  this  translation  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  and  this  may 
give  it  perhaps  an  added  interest  in  your  sight. 


94  JOURNAL.  [1867. 

28th.  Agassiz's  birthday.  Pass  the  evening  with  him. 
He  is  sixty  years  old. 

June  1.  Went  with  Fields  to  see  Story's  bust  of 
Browning  the  poet,  at  Mr.  Dana's  in  Arlington  Street. 
Very  good  ;  but  not  so  good  as  that  of  Mrs.  Browning  by 
the  same  artist.  In  the  evening  went  to  hear  some  music 
at  the  Music  Hall.  Mr.  Thayer  played.  "We  sat  in  the 
twilight,  some  fifty  of  us,  on  the  platform,  under  Beet 
hoven's  statue,  without  lights  in  the  gathering  dark 
ness,  and  listened  for  an  hour  or  two.  It  was  very 
impressive. 

2d.  Another  lovely  day ;  the  lilacs  all  in  bloom  and 
tossing  in  the  wind.  Agassiz  calls  and  sits  half  an  hour. 
In  the  afternoon,  Parsons  the  poet  and  translator  of  Dante. 
We  have  a  talk  about  theories  of  translation. 

4th.  I  met  in  the  street  an  Irish  mason,  whom  I  have 
seen  now  and  then  about  new  houses.  I  wished  him  good 
morning,  and  joining  me  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  speak  to 
a  poet.  I  have  meself  a  brother  in  the  Port,  who  is  a 
drunkard  and  a  poet." 

5th.  Bought  books;  some  for  the  Portland  Library, 
some  for  myself.  In  the  afternoon  Captain  Dixon  from 
Kidderminster  called  with  a  letter  from  Elihu  Burritt. 
Then  Dana,  with  Mr.  Jennings,  the  New  York  correspond 
ent  of  the  London  Times,  and  his  wife,  a  beautiful  young 
American. 

6th.  A  perfect  day.  An  excellent  lecture  from  Lowell, 
on  Shakespeare.  Then  Sophocles  calls  to  say  that  he 
would  to-morrow  bring  out  Mr.  Kangebe',  the  Greek  En 
voy,  to  see  me. 

8th.  Read  Sumner's  speech  on  Alaska,  or  Russian 
America;  and  Calderon's  La  Vida  es  Sueno. 


1867-]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  95 

To  G.  W.  Curtis. 

June  13,  1867. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  see  your  handwriting  last  even 
ing  ;  the  next  best  thing  to  seeing  yourself.  At  T.'s  dinner 
we  missed  you  very  much ;  the  only  skeleton  there  was 
your  vacant  chair.  Kensett  I  found  quite  unchanged 
after  so  many  years  that  I  have  not  met  him ;  just  as 
sweet  and  sound  as  ever ;  and  his  voice  murmuring  on  in 
its  old  pleasant  undertone,  like  a  hidden  brook. 

Perhaps  you  will  infer  from  this  last  elaborate  sentence 
that  my  letter  is  meant  for  an  autograph,  and  that  I  have 

Mrs.  in  my  eye.  Not  in  the  least.  I  have  this 

morning  made  my  peace  with  her,  or  hope  I  have,  by 
writing  to  her  in  answer  to  a  note  received  some  time  ago, 
and  by  me  neglected.  Therefore  you  need  not  send  this. 

We  are  all  well  here,  and  begin  to  think  of  Nahant. 
I  wish  there  were  any  chance  of  seeing  you  there  this 
summer.  Could  we  persuade  you  to  come,  if  we  tried  ? 


18th.  Mr.  Routledge,  my  London  publisher,  came  to 
lunch.  A  sturdy,  blue-eyed,  North  Country  gentleman. 
We  had  much  talk  of  books  and  the  book-trade.  Dined 
with  Agassiz,  to  meet  Senhor  Azumbaja,  the  Brazilian 
Minister. 

19th.  Sumner  dined  with  me ;  and  we  went  to  the 
Palfreys' ;  then  strolled  through  the  college  grounds  and 
sentimentalized. 

20th.  There  was  a  beautiful  wedding  to-day;  the 
chimes  ringing,  as  if  Cambridge  were  still  a  village.  This 
and  the  lovely  June  weather  made  a  very  pleasant  occa 
sion. 

26th.  The  Paradise  published  to-day.  And  so  endeth 
the  Divine  Comedy  !  Greene  arrives  in  the  evening,  and 
we  celebrate  the  occasion  with  a  little  supper. 


96  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1867. 

27th.  A  rainy  day.  Eead  Mrs.  Kadcliffe's  novel,  the 
Eomance  of  the  Forest.  Was  this  the  sensation  novel  of 
the  last  generation  ?  How  feeble  it  seems  ! 

July  1.  Greene  departs  for  home,  and  so  ends  a  short 
but  pleasant  visit.  What  cheer  there  is  in  the  face  of  an 
old  friend ! 

8th.  Nahant.  Eead  Erckmann-Chatrian's  pretty  novel, 
Le  Blocus.  There  is  a  great  charm  about  the  style ;  very 
simple  and  sweet  in  tone.  Always,  even  in  depicting  war, 
he  preaches  the  gospel  of  peace. 

9th.  Eeading  over  Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso.  Easy, 
elegant  narrative,  and  prodigality  of  strange  adventure; 
but  it  is  verse  rather  than  poetry,  after  all. 

14th.  The  Eev.  Mr. preached  a  sermon  against 

Liberal  Christianity.  He  seems  to  prefer  the  illiberal. 

18th.  Dip  into  the  Greek  Anthology ;  the  most  mel 
ancholy  of  books,  with  an  odor  of  dead  garlands  about  it. 
Voices  from  the  grave,  cymbals  of  Bacchantes,  songs  of 
love,  sighs,  groans,  prayers, — all  mingled  together.  I  never 
read  a  book  that  made  me  sadder. 

August  1.  Fields  and  Mrs.  F.  came  with  Mr.  White, 
President  of  the  new  Cornell  University,  to  dine. 

2d.  A  foggy  morning ;  and  the  lazy  sea  heaving  in 
with  a  low  wash,  wash,  on  the  rocks.  The  sun  begins  to 
break  through  the  mist.  There  are  few  things  so  beau 
tiful  as  the  clearing  of  the  fog.  I  will  go  down  and 
watch  it. 

To  John  Neal. 

August  2,  1867. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  letter  yesterday, 
and  am  very  happy  to  get  your  hearty  approval  of  my 
attempt  to  tell  the  exact  truth  of  Dante.  A  great  many 
people  think  that  a  translation  ought  not  to  be  too  faith 
ful  ;  that  the  writer  should  put  himself  into  it  as  well  as 


1867.]  LETTERS.  97 

his  original ;  that  it  should  be  Homer  and  Co.,  or  Dante 
and  Co.  ;  and  that  what  the  foreign  author  really  says 
should  be  falsified"  or  modified,  if  thereby  the  smoothness 
of  the  verse  can  be  improved.  On  the  contrary  I  main 
tain  —  and  am  delighted  that  you  agree  with  me  —  that 
a  translator,  like  a  witness  on  the  stand,  should  hold  up 
his  right  hand  and  swear  to  "  tell  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth."  You,  who  all  your  life 
long  have  been  fighting  for  the  truth  in  all  things,  with 
out  fear  or  favor,  could  not,  I  am  sure,  think  otherwise. 


To  Ferdinand  Freiligratk. 

NAHANT,  August  12,  1867. 

I  have  received  and  read  with  great  eagerness  and 
pleasure  your  three  letters,  in  which  you  give  me  exactly 
the  kind  of  information  I  wanted  about  yourself  and  your 
family  ;  so  that  I  feel  now  as  if  I  really  knew  your  chil 
dren  as  well  as  you  and  your  wife.  I  have  read  also  with 
the  deepest  interest  the  several  accounts,  in  the  paper  and 
pamphlet  you  were  so  kind  as  to  send,  of  the  honors  done 
you  in  your  native  country. 

The  whole  movement  seems  to  be  a  national  one  ;  and 
I  am  delighted  to  see  the  German  heart  thus  warm  to 
wards  you.  I  can  well  imagine  that  some  indiscreet 
individual  may  do  or  say  something  now  and  then  which 
wrill  not  be  exactly  pleasant ;  but  the  whole  movement  is 
so  honorable  to  you  and  to  all  concerned  in  it,  and  so  spon 
taneous  and  universal  that  you  ought  to  accept  it  with 

joy- 

You  are  called  back  to  your  country  as  Dante  wished 
to  be  to  his,  —  by  acclamation.  It  is  your  coronation. 
How  well  you  deserved  it,  it  is  not  needful  for  me  to 

say.  .  .  . 

7 


98  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1867. 

Very  curious  and  interesting  is  your  discussion  of  that 
favorite  metre  of  Burns ;  and  your  conclusion  is  doubtless 
perfectly  correct.  It  came  into  Scotland  with  French 
claret,  and  both  became  equally  popular.  Very  amusing 
and  cleverly  done  are  those  lines  on  cleaning  your  study. 
I  sympathize  with  you,  as  I  suppose  every  bookish  man 
must.  But  not  every  one  gets  his  sorrows  so  well 
sung. 

No  doubt,  after  a  while  you  will  gravitate  back  to  the 
Continent. 

I  do  not  wholly  despair  of  meeting  you  again  on  the 
Rhine,  though  I  confess  the  chances  at  present  are  some 
what  against  it. 


22d.  Called  on  Agassiz,  and  found  him  busy  dissecting 
a  huge  skate.  Intolerable  fishy  odor  in  his  room. 

23d.  Wakened  at  six  by  singing  of  sailors,  and  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  saw  the  Alice  1  at  her  moorings. 
All  landed  safe  for  breakfast. 

26th.  Sail  down  to  Manchester  in  the  Alice,  with 
all  the  family,  to  visit  the  Danas.  Pace  the  sands  with 
the  old  poet.  Leave  E.  and  A.  behind  to  make  a  visit. 

28th.  I  miss  the  little  girls  very  much ;  though  W. 
and  his  sister  are  here  to  take  their  place. 

30th.  Went  down  to  Manchester  with  Fields.  Oh, 
quaint,  quiet  little  sea-side  village !  Eambled  through  its 
streets  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.,  and  climbed  the  rocks,  and 
then  home  to  dinner  at  their  pleasant  house,  where  I 
found  Dr.  Bartol  and  his  wife,  and  Johnson  the  artist,  and 
others.  Drove  to  Dana's  for  the  children. 

September  2.  A  bright  morning.  The  sea  very  calm, 
sending  up  along  the  rocks  and  beaches  a  long,  low  respi 
ration  :  — 

1  Mr.  T.  G.  Appletori's  yacht. 


1867.]  JOURNAL.  99 

"  secondo  che  per  ascoltare 
Non  area  pianto,  ma  che  di  sospiri 
Che  1'aura  eterna  facevaii  tremare."1 

20th.  Keturn  home.  Sail  up  to  Boston  in  the  "  Alice," 
and  \valk  out  to  Cambridge  in  the  evening. 

24th.  Forenoon,  attended  the  funeral  of  Sir  Frederick 
Bruce,  the  British  Minister.  In  the  afternoon  go  to 
Portland. 

29th.  Mr.  Macmillan,  the  English  publisher,  and  Pro 
fessor  Child  dine  with  me.  After  dinner  Lowell  and 
Fields  come  in.  We  sit  out,  in  the  lovely  weather,  till 
sunset. 

October  1.  Give  the  morning  to  business.  In  the  even 
ing,  go  to  hear  Emerson  lecture  on  "  Eloquence."  Then  a 
supper  at  Fields's,  where  Mr.  Macmillan  is  staying.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Emerson,  Agassiz,  Dr.  Holmes,  Lowell,  Wendell 
Phillips. 

2d.  Dine  with  Sumner  for  the  last  time  in  the  old 
house  (in  Hancock  Street,  Boston).  At  sunset,  walk 
across  the  bridge  with  Sumner,  and  take  leave  of  him  at 
the  end  of  it. 

13th.  Had  good  Mr.  Folsom  to  dine  with  us.  He 
grows  old;  it  is  like  a  summer  sunset  fading  away. 

14th.  Ptev.  E.  Hale  came  out  with  Newman  Hall,  the 
popular  preacher.  Go  into  town  in  the  evening  to  hear 
him  speak  at  the  Music  Hall,  on  "  The  Eelations  between 
England  and  America  during  the  Late  War."  He  made 
out  a  very  good  case  for  England,  and  kept  his  immense 
audience  interested  for  two  hours. 

1  There,  in  so  far  as  I  had  power  to  hear, 
Were  lamentations  none,  but  only  sighs 
That  tremulous  made  the  everlasting  air. 

Inferno  iv.  25. 


LETTERS.  [1867. 


From  A.  P.  Stanley. 

DEANERY,  WESTMINSTER,  Oct.  15,  1867. 
MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  You  will  pardon  me,  although  a 
stranger  personally,  in  writing  to  express  to  you,  in  case 
it  has  not  already  been  said  by  some  other  and  nearer 
member  of  the  family,  how  deeply  was  valued  and  felt 
your  last  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Sir  Frederick  Bruce  in 
attending  the  funeral  ceremony  in  Boston.  We  had  heard 
from  him  how  much  he  had  enjoyed  his  intercourse  with 
you.  We  little  thought  that  the  next  time  we  should 
hear  of  you  in  connection  with  him  would  be  in  the  tidings 
that  your  venerable  presence  would  be  honoring  his  mem 
ory  in  death.  It  is  the  hardest  of  all  tasks  to  believe  at 
such  a  moment  that  "celestial  benedictions  assume  this 
dark  disguise."  Yet  as  we  stood  in  Dunfermline  Abbey, 
where  his  remains  are  laid  beside  his  brother  Robert's,  and 
within  the  same  walls  that  contain  the  burial-place  of  his 
royal  ancestors,  I  would  fain  hope  that 

"  Amid  these  earthly  damps, 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 
May  be  Heaven's  distant  lamps." 

My  dear  wife,  his  beloved  sister,  begs  me  to  ask  you  to 
accept  the  enclosed  likeness  of  that  old  church,  so  dear  to 
her  race.  He  lies  under  the  projecting  transept  which 
has  been  built  against  the  ancient  edifice. 

Once  more  let  me  ask  you  to  forgive  this  intrusion,  and 
to  receive  this  assurance  of  gratitude  for  this  last  service 
from  one  who  has  often  felt  how  much  he  owed  to  you 
for  the  expression  of  thoughts  which  bind  together  our 
two  countries  by  the  best  of  all  possible  bonds. 
Yours  sincerely, 

ARTHUR  P.  STANLEY. 


1867.]  JOURNAL.  101 

17th.  Walk  up  to  Norton's.  He  shows  me  some  of 
Turner's  sketches,  —  originals,  which  he  has  just  received 
from  Euskin. 

26th.  At  the  Club  dinner,  many  strangers.  Among 
them,  Lord  Amberley,  Mr.  Hamilton,  Mr.  Vogeli.  Lord  A. 
is  son  of  Earl  Russell.  Mr.  H.  is  in  the  Colonial  Office ;  I 
asked  him  to  dinner  to-morrow.  Mr.  V.  is  a  Frenchman, 
living  in  Brazil,  who  has  come  to  Cambridge  to  translate 
Agassiz's  new  book  on  Brazil. 

November  2.  The  funeral  of  Governor  Andrew,  whom 
all  men  delight  to  honor. 

6th.  Ticknor  and  Fields  give  a  beautiful  banquet  at 
the  Union  Club,  in  honor  of  the  Divina  Commedia  trans 
lation.  Among  other  guests,  R.  H.  Dana,  of  the  Old 
Guard  of  literature ;  Dr.  Hayes,  the  Arctic  explorer ;  Lord 
Amberley,  etc.1 

14th.  Lord  and  Lady  Amberley  dined  with  me.  Had 
Agassiz  to  meet  them.  In  the  evening,  drove  to  the 
Observatory. 

20th.  Dined  with  Dr.  Holmes.  On  my  way,  stopped 
at  the  Parker  House  to  see  Dickens  [just  arrived  from 
England],  whom  I  found  very  well  and  most  cordial.  It 
was  right  pleasant  to  see  him  again,  after  so  many  years, 
—  twenty-five  !  He  looks  somewhat  older,  but  is  as  elastic 
and  quick  in  his  movement  as  ever.  At  Holmes's  we  had 
the  Earl  of  Camperdown,  Lord  Morley,  and  Mr.  Cowper ; 
all  very  agreeable  gentlemen. 

21st.  Young  Holmes  called  with  Lord  C.,  who  brings 
me  a  letter  from  Motley,  and  whom  I  like  very  much. 
Dined  with  Fields,  —  a  dinner  of  welcome  to  Dickens. 

22d.  In  town.  Passed  through  the  Public  Garden, 
and  saw  Story's  statue  of  Everett,  which  is  good.  In  the 
evening  Dickens  came  out  to  a  little  supper. 

1  During  dinner,  a  lovely  wreath  of  choice  flowers  was  brought 
him,  from  Mrs.  Fields,  Mrs.  Stowe,  and  Lady  Amberley. 


102  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1868. 

28th.  Thanksgiving-day.  Dickens  came  out  to  a  quiet 
family  dinner. 

29th.  In  the  afternoon  Agassiz  came  to  read  us  the 
sheets  of  his  closing  chapters  on  Brazil. 

December  2.  A  snow-storm,  stopping  at  noon.  Dickens's 
first  Eeading.  We  all  went ;  a  pleasant  moonlight  drive. 
A  triumph  for  Dickens.  It  is  not  reading  exactly,  but 
acting;  and  quite  wonderful  in  its  way.  He  gave  the 
Christmas  Carol  and  the  "  Trial,"  from  Pickwick.  The  old 
judge  was  eqiial  to  Dogberry. 

5th  and  6th.     Dickens's  Headings. 

January  1,  1868.  The  new  year  begins  with  a  snow 
storm.  E.  had,  in  the  evening,  a  girl  and  boy  party,  with 
music,  and  dancing,  and  supper ;  very  charming. 

2d.  A  call  from  my  old  pupil  and  successor  at  Bruns 
wick,  Professor  Goodwin,  now  of  Philadelphia.  A  pleasant 
talk  of  old  times. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

January  12,  1868. 

What  a  beautiful  thing  is  silence!  and  yet  one  may 
carry  it  a  great  deal  too  far.  For  instance,  I  have  not  yet 
answered  your  Christmas  greeting,  and  it  is  past  Twelfth- 
night  !  I  will  not  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year ;  only  a 
happier  one.  That,  I  am  sure,  is  possible ;  and  from  the 
depth  of  my  heart  I  wish  it  may  be  yours. 

I  am  seriously  meditating  a  flight  to  Europe  in  the 
spring  or  early  summer.  First  to  England,  then  to  the 
Continent.  I  think  I  can  accomplish  it ;  and  it  would  do 
me  great  good,  mentally  and  bodily. 

Dickens  has  been,  and  is  still,  triumphant.  His  read 
ings  —  or  recitations,  rather  —  are  wonderful  to  hear  and 
see.  Sergeant  Buzfuz's  argument  to  the  jury  in"Bardell 
vs.  Pickwick,"  would  delight  you.  In  what  raptures  our 
dear  Felton  would  be,  were  he  now  alive ! 


1868.]  LETTERS.  103 

To  Miss  F . 

January  24,  1868. 

Your  letters  about  the  Dante  were  altogether  the 
pleasantest  that  have  come  to  me  from  England  on  the 
subject.  I  am  indeed  very  glad  that  you  liked  the  trans 
lation.  I  hold  that  the  primary  object  of  all  translation 
is  to  tell  us  exactly  what  a  foreign  author  says;  while 
many  others  think  that  a  translator  may  take  all  kinds  of 
liberties  with  his  original. 

.  .  .  Our  winter  here  has  been  rather  cold  and  solitary, 
and  quite  uneventful,  save  in  the  advent  of  Mr.  Dickens. 
His  readings  have  enlivened  us ;  and  are,  as  you  know, 
wonderful  in  their  way,  and  very  interesting.  I  presume 
you  have  heard  him,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  enlarge 
upon  that  topic. 

When  the  weather  is  dull  and  cold,  we  talk  of  going  to 
Europe  in  the  spring.  When  it  grows  milder,  we  are  con 
tent  to  stay  at  home  and  avoid  the  troubles  of  travelling, 
repeating  the  German  proverb, — 

"  Osten  und  Westen, 
Zu  Haus  am  besten." 

A  fortnight  on  board  an  Atlantic  steamer  is  not  an  ex 
hilarating  subject  of  contemplation. 

In  speaking  of  Dickens,  I  ought  to  have  added  that  in 
all  the  cities  where  he  has  read,  he  has  been  received  with 
great  enthusiasm ;  and  the  popularity  of  his  works  was 
never  greater  in  America  than  now.  This  puts  to  flight 
the  fears  and  surmises  of  those  who  thought  there  was 
still  some  lurking  grudge  against  him  here,  on  account  of 
his  American  Notes  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit.  The  result 
of  his  coming  here  is  a  great  triumph.  When  I  listen  to 
Dickens,  I  always  think  how  Felton  would  have  enjoyed 
these  readings ;  for  he  was  one  of  the  most  constant  and 


104  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1868. 

ardent  admirers  of  the  great  novelist ;  and  his  wide  sym 
pathies  made  it  possible  for  him  to  appreciate  and  enjoy 
all  varieties  of  character.  We  still  mourn  for  Felton. 

I  hope  you  have  no  brother  nor  friend  in  the  Abyssinian 
expedition.  From  this  distance  it  looks  like  a  forlorn  piece 
of  work,  which  one  would  like  to  see  well  ended. 


29th.  Took  up  my  New  England  Tragedy,  to  remodel 
it.1  Wrote  a  fresh  scene. 

30th.  Eemodelled  and  versified  the  first  scene  of  act  i. 
of  the  Tragedy.  There  is  good  material  in  it,  if  I  can 
fashion  it. 

February  4.  I  have  worked  pretty  steadily  on  the 
Tragedy;  rewriting  it  from  the  beginning.  Owen  came 
in  the  afternoon,  bringing  Mr.  M.  of  Salem,  Mr.  Fry  of 
England,  —  descended  from  the  Quakeress,  Mrs.  Fry.  He 
gave  me  a  photograph  of  her,  —  from  a  portrait,  of  course. 

10th.  Went  to  town,  for  the  first  time  for  a  fortnight. 
The  Tragedy  is  finished.  I  have  worked  steadily  on  it, 
for  it  took  hold  of  me,  —  a  kind  of  possession.  Evening  at 
Professor  Horsford's,  to  meet  Senator  Morgan  of  New 
York,  who  is  versed  in  Indian  affairs. 

llth.  The  day  is  dark  and  dreary.  A  letter  from 
Sumner,  which  is  also  dark  and  dreary.  Evening  at  T.'s, 
where  were  some  beautiful  tableaux ;  and  the  most  beau 
tiful  was  M.  L as  a  "portrait  by  Copley." 

12th.  Having  finished  the  Tragedy  of  the  Quakers,  I 
now  design  another,  on  Witchcraft. 

14th.  Kead  John  Neal's  Eachel  Dyer,  a  tale  of  Witch 
craft.  Some  parts  very  powerful.  I  am  overwhelmed 
with  unanswered  letters. 

15th.  Wrote  a  scene  of  the  new  tragedy.  I  think  I 
shall  call  it '  Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem  Farms.'  A  homely 

1  It  was  at  first  written  in  prose,  and  a  few  copies  were  printed. 


1868.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  105 

name ;  so  is  the  subject.  It  is  taking  hold  of  me  power 
fully. 

18th.  Wrote  two  scenes,  —  one  of  them  the  trial  scene. 
If  this  possession  lasts,  I  shall  soon  finish  the  work. 

19th.  'Cotton  Mather  in  his  Study;'  mostly  in  his 
own  words.1 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

February  19,  1868. 

I  am  delighted  with  Mrs.  Fields's  kind  remembrance 
and  invitation  for  the  27th.  And  if  I  have  not  accepted 
it  sooner,  attribute  it  only  to  one  thing ;  namely,  that 
since  I  saw  you  I  have  been  possessed  by  an  angel  —  or  a 
demon  —  to  write  another  tragedy,  which  has  absorbed 
me  for  a  time,  and  is  now  half  finished.  So  I  have  two 
to  show  you  instead  of  one,  —  an  awful  consideration  ! 

Tom  Appleton  has  been  here  to-day,  and  tells  me  that 
you  are  expecting  Dickens  this  evening.  I  shall  be  de 
lighted  to  sup  with  you,  as  I  always  am.  To  have  a 
Dickens  Reading,  and  a  supper  too,  will  make  a  great 
holiday. 

Please  do  not  say  a  word  to  anybody  about  the  Trage 
dies.  I  want  that  kept  a  secret  for  the  present. 


21st.  There  seems  to  be  a  witch  element  in  the  air.  As 
I  walked  down  to  the  Square  this  morning,  I  saw  a  great 
placard  on  a  fence,  with  a  picture.  It  was  the  advertise 
ment  of  a  new  sensation-story,  —  The  Witch  Proof;  or, 
the  Hunted  Maid  of  Salem. 

24th,  25th.     Dickens  Reading  [the  second  series]. 

27th.  My  birthday.  Evening,  Dickens  read  the  Carol, 
and  "  Boots  at  the  Holly-Tree  Inn."  Then  there  was  a 
supper  at  Fields's,  in  honor  of  the  day  !  Dickens  wrote 
me  a  nice  letter  on  the  occasion. 

1  This  scene  was  omitted  in  printing. 


106  LETTERS.  [1868. 

From  Charles  Dickens. 

BOSTON,  February  27,  1868. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  wish  you  from  my  deepest 
heart  many,  many  happy  returns  of  this  day,  —  a  precious 
one  to  the  civilized  world,  —  and  all  earthly  happiness 
and  prosperity.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend  !  I  hope 
to  welcome  you  at  Gad's  Hill  this  next  summer,  and  to 
give  you  the  heartiest  reception  that  the  undersigned  vil 
lage  blacksmith  can  strike  out  of  his  domestic  anvil. 

Dolby  will  report  that  I  have  been  terrifying  him  by 
sneezing  melodiously  for  the  last  half -hour.  The  moment 
there  is  a  fall  from  the  sky,  this  national  catarrh  gives 
me  an  extra  grip.  I  dare  not  come  to  Fields's  to-night, 
having  to  read  to-morrow;  but  you  shall  in  my  flowing 
cups  (or  sneezes)  be  especially  remembered  after  to-night's 
reading. 

Even  your  imagination  cannot  conceive  how  admir 
ingly,  tenderly,  and  truly, 

Ever  your  affectionate  CHAELES  DICKENS. 

From  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

February  28,  1868. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  I  regretted  extremely 
that  I  could  not  join  the  circle  that  honored  your  birthday 
last  night  at  Fields's.  It  was  in  my  heart  to  go,  but  Dr. 
Langmaid  tells  me  that  I  have  a  little  bronchitis ;  and  as 
I  must  speak  in  the  House,  I  must  not  expose  myself, 
and  must  keep  early  hours,  and  the  like.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Dana  and  I  regretted  my  hard  fate,  at  home,  and 
thought  what  your  birthday  had  been  for  letters,  for 
American  letters,  and  especially  for  your  friends,  —  among 
whom  we  hope  always  to  be. 

With  the  best  wishes  for  the  year  to  come, 

Yours  faithfully,          RICHARD  H.  DANA,  JR. 


1863.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  107 

29th.  All  this  week,  have  done  little  or  nothing  on 
the  Tragedy.  And  I  hoped  to  have  finished  it  before  my 
birthday.  A.  and  I  dined  with  Dickens  at  the  Parker 

House,  —  a  grand  banquet  given  by  him  to  Mrs.  F . 

We  were  eighteen  in  all. 

March  2.  At  the  rooms  of  the  Historical  Society,  to 
look  over  King  James's  Dtemonologie.  After  my  return 
I  finished  the  Tragedy. 

3d.     Eetouch  it  here  and  there,  and  fill  up  gaps. 

4th.     Gave  a  dinner  to  Dickens. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

March  9,  1868. 

I  have  been  so  very  busy,  and  so  much  driven  to  and 
fro  by  visitors  and  various  things,  that  I  have  not  had 
time  to  write  you  for  a  long  while. 

In  the  month  of  February  I  wrote  two  tragedies  in 
verse,  —  one  on  the  persecution  of  the  Quakers  in  Boston, 
which  I  had  sketched  out  before  [and  indeed  written  and 
printed  in  prose]  ;  and  another,  entirely  new,  on  the 
Salem  Witchcraft.  Please  say  nothing  of  this ;  as  I  may 
never  publish  them,  and  can  hardly  yet  form  an  opinion 
of  them,  they  are  so  fresh  from  my  mind. 

The  European  expedition  is  taking  shape.  We  are 
going  at  the  end  of  May,  —  probably  in  the  "  Eussia,"  on 
the  27th.  I  do  not  like  the  breaking  up  of  home  and 
drifting  about  the  Old  World ;  but  I  suppose  it  is  for  the 
best.  I  hope  to  come  back  better  in  body  and  mind.  I 
need  a  good  shaking  up,  and  expect  to  get  it. 

I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  that  I  cannot  run  on  to  Wash 
ington  to  see  you  before  I  go ;  but  there  is  no  chance  of 
that,  I  fear. 

Thanks  for  your  Speech.     I  liked  it  greatly. 

Good-night.     God  bless  you. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

LETTERS  AND  JOURNAL. 
18G8-1869. 

A  FEW  letters  and  two  bits  of  diary,  written 
during  Mr.  Longfellow's  last  visit  to  Europe,  are 
here  given. 

To  Robert  Ferguson. 

STATION  HOTEL,  YORK,  June  19,  1868. 

We  reached  York  with  great  comfort,  at  5.35  to  the 
minute.  I  hope  you  were  as  fortunate  in  reaching  Car 
lisle.  We  had  not  left  the  station  when  the  train  came 
in  from  Leeds,  bringing  all  the  rest  of  the  party.  Ernest 
came  yesterday.  We  all  stop  at  this  hotel,  which  is  a 
very  good  one ;  even  more,  —  an  excellent  one.  Our 
drawing-room  window  looks  out  upon  the  cathedral. 

That  cathedral !  If  I  said  my  say  about  it,  you  would 
think  me  sixteen,  instead  of  sixty.  So  I  will  be  silent. 

To-morrow  we  go  to  Matlock  and  Kowsley,  where  we 
pass  Sunday.  On  Monday  or  Tuesday,  to  Malvern ;  and 
trust  to  meet  you  there,  to  make  the  tour  of  Stratford, 
Kenilworth,  etc. 

In  great  haste,  with  much  love  from  my  darlings. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

BONCHURCH,  July  19,  1868. 

This  letter  is  dated  from  your  favorite  hotel  in  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  and  from  parlor  No.  4,  with  a  glimpse  of  flowers, 


1868.]  LETTERS.  109 

hedges,  and  tops  of  trees  in  the  hollow,  and  of  the  blue  sea 
beyond.  This  is  literally  my  first  day  of  rest ;  and  I,  as 
you  see,  have  not  gone  to  church  with  all  the  others  of  my 
party,  but  am  here  writing  with  hotel  ink  and  a  barbarous 
pen. 

We  came  last  night  from  Freshwater,  where  we  had 
passed  two  happy  days  with  Tennyson,  —  not  at  his  house, 
but  mostly  with  him.  He  was  very  cordial,  and  very 
amiable  ;  and  gave  up  his  whole  time  to  us.  At  Farring- 
ford  your  memory  is  fresh  and  fragrant. 

Since  landing  in  England  I  have  not  had  one  leisure 
moment.  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  overwhelming 
hospitality  with  which  I  have  been  greeted,  and  will  not 
attempt  it.  From  Liverpool  we  went  to  the  Lakes ;  then 
to  Carlisle.  Then  I  swooped  down  to  Cambridge,  where  I 
had  a  scarlet  gown  put  upon  me,  and  the  students  shouted 
"  Three  cheers  for  the  red  man  of  the  West."  Then  I 
went  to  York,  and  down  through  Derbyshire  to  London, 
where  I  stayed  a  fortnight  and  saw  everybody,  from  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to . 

I  do  not  mean  to  palm  this  off  upon  you  as  a  letter. 
It  is  only  a  word  to  tell  you  where  I  am,  and  to  thank 
you  for  your  and  Fields's  joint  letter,  duly  received  in 
London. 

I  and  my  girls  passed  a  pleasant  Sunday  at  Gad's  Hill. 

To  G.  W.  Greene, 

SHAKKLIN,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT,  July  21,  1868. 
I  write  you  this  from  a  lovely  little  thatch-roofed  inn, 
all  covered  with  ivy,  and  extremely  desirable  to  the  tired 
American  traveller.  Opposite  the  door  is  a  new  fountain, 
for  which  I  have  been  requested  to  write  an  inscription ; 
and  our  windows  look  down  upon  the  quaintest  little 
village  you  ever  saw.  It  is  all  like  a  scene  on  the  stage. 


110  LETTERS.  [1868. 

The  landlady  is  a  portly  dame ;  the  head-waiter,  a  red- 
faced  Alsatian ;  and  when  the  chambermaid  appears,  you 
expect  she  will  sing  instead  of  speak. 

Such  are  our  surroundings.  We  are  all  well,  and  all 
hot,  the  thermometer  being  at  84°  in  the  shade.  To-mor 
row  we  take  steamer  from  Dover  to  the  Continent. 

In  England  I  have  been  most  heartily  welcomed ;  and 
in  London  almost  killed  with  kindness.  The  number  of 
letters  T  have  had  to  answer  is  incredible,  which  is  the 
reason  I  have  not  written  you  sooner.  I  have  seen  almost 
everybody  I  most  cared  to  see  in  England,  and  now  am 
quite  ready  for  the  Continent.  I  think  of  you  often,  and 
often  envy  you  your  quiet  study,  while  I  am  so  banged 
about  in  the  heat. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

SHANKLIN,  July  21,  1868. 

If  you  have  been  in  Shanklin,  and  stopped  at  Hollier's, 
you  will  know  exactly  where  we  are,  and  how  we  are. 
Last  night  I  slept  for  the  first  time  under  a  roof  of  thatch. 
It  is  very  rural,  and  extremely  pleasant.  In  fine,  this  is 
one  of  the  quietest  and  loveliest  places  in  the  kingdom ; 
and  at  last  I  get  a  moment  of  leisure  to  write  to  you, 
which  I  have  not  had  before. 

And  now  I  know  hardly  where  to  begin,  or  what  to 
say.  London  was  very  hot,  and  very  hurried.  I  was 
whirled  about  from  morning  to  night,  without  rest.  You 
remember  how  it  is,  in  the  season.  The  Argylls  were  most 
kind,  in  all  ways.  From  the  Duchess  I  received  a  very 
cordial  letter  at  Malvern,  and  I  had  my  first  London 
breakfast  with  them.  I  need  not  say  that  of  you  they 
retain  the  most  affectionate  remembrance. 

I  cannot  tell  you  of  all  the  people  I  lunched  and  dined 
with.  Lord  Stanhope  and  all  his  family  were  particularly 
kind.  So  were  the  Gladstones,  —  so  was  everybody. 


1368.]  LETTERS.  Ill 


To  J.  T.  Fields. 

LUGANO,  August  23,  1868. 

I  write  you,  much  to  my  own  surprise  (not  to  mention 
yours),  from  this  lovely  lake.  We  came  here  by  one  of 
those  lucky  accidents  of  travel  into  which  unseen  postilions 
drive  us.  We  went  to  Hospenthal,  meaning  to  cross  the 
Furca  and  go  down  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  to  Vevey. 
But  finding  the  road  over  the  Furca  broken  by  rain  and 
river,  we  came  over  the  St.  Gothard,  and  through  Bel- 
linzona  to  this  place,  —  a  beautiful  two  days'  drive  through 
the  valley  of  the  Ticino,  the  Val  Tremola,  Val  Levantina, 
Val  d'Agno.  Ah,  me,  how  charming  it  was,  and  is,  and 
ever  will  be ! 

Delightful  it  is  to  be  once  more  in  Italy.  I  already 
feel  the  fascination  of  the  old  Siren ;  and  if  it  were  later 
in  the  season  I  would  not  turn  back.  As  it  is,  in  a  day  or 
two  we  are  going  over  the  Simplon  to  resume  the  broken 
route  of  the  Rhone  valley.  But  it  is  really  too  pleasant 
here  to  think  of  going  anywhere  else.  You  remember  this 
Hotel  du  Pare,  once  a  convent.  The  very  chambermaids 
look  like  nuns,  or  the  ghosts  of  nuns.  The  lapping  of 
the  water  under  the  windows,  and  the  view  of  lake  and 
mountains,  will  make  the  "charges  moderate,"  whatever 
they  may  be. 

To  make  you  more  unhappy  than  you  already  are,  I 
must  not  forget  to  mention  a  dish  of  fresh  figs  beside  the 
inkstand  as  I  write,  and  a  boat  with  an  awning,  full  in 
sight,  waiting  under  a  willow-tree  to  take  us  across  the 
lake.  It  is  such  a  surprise  to  me  to  be  here  that  I  enjoy 
it  more  than  anything  else  we  have  seen.  The  old  familiar 
places  saddened  me. 

And  now  for  business.  Please  publish  the  New  Eng 
land  Tragedies  on  Saturday,  October  10.  That  is  the  day 


112  LETTERS.  [1868. 

I  have  agreed  upon  with  Eoutledge,  with  whom  I  have 
made  a  very  good  arrangement.  Tauchnitz  will  publish 
on  the  same  day. 

I  have  so  many,  many  things  to  tell  you  that  there 
would  be  no  end;  therefore  there  shall  be  no  beginning. 
Among  them  is  Tennyson's  reading  '  Boadicea'  to  me  at 
midnight.  A  memorable  night ! 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

VEVET,  September  5,  1868. 

I  do  not  like  your  idea  of  calling  the  Tragedies 
"  sketches."  They  are  not  sketches,  and  only  seem  so  at 
first  because  I  have  studiously  left  out  all  that  could  im 
pede  the  action.  I  have  purposely  made  them  simple  and 
direct.  [John]  Forster,  with  whom  I  left  the  proof-sheets 
in  London,  to  be  made  over  to  Routledge,  writes  as 
follows :  — 

"Your  Tragedies  are  very  beautiful,  —  beauty  every 
where  subduing  and  chastening  the  sadness ;  the  pic 
tures  of  nature  in  delightful  contrast  to  the  sorrowful 
and  tragic  violence  of  the  laws ;  truth  and  unaffectedness 
everywhere.  I  hardly  know  which  I  like  best ;.  but  there 
are  things  in  '  Giles  Corey '  that  have  a  strange  attractive 
ness  for  me."  This  to  encourage  you. 

It  is  a  novel  and  pleasant  sensation  to  publish  a  book 
and  be  so  far  away  from  all  comment  and  criticism  of 
newspapers.  As  to  anybody's  "  adapting "  these  Trage 
dies  for  the  stage,  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  it  at  all.  Pre 
vent  this,  if  possible.  I  should,  however,  like  to  have  the 
opinion  of  some  good  actor  —  not  a  sensational  actor  —  on 
that  point.  I  should  like  to  have  Booth  look  at  them. 

I  wrote  you  last  from  Lugano.  From  that  pleasant 
place  we  went  to  one  still  pleasanter ;  namely,  Cadenabbia 
on  the  Lake  of  Como.  That  was  Italy  !  and  as  lovely  as 


1868.]  LETTERS.  113 

Italy  can  be  when  she  tries.  The  climate  is  delicious ; 
neither  hot  nor  cold,  but  delightfully  tempered  with  all 
the  elements  necessary  to  make  a  climate  perfect.  Not 
an  insect  to  be  seen  or  heard  !  and  a  gentle  breath  of  air 
stirring  up  or  down  the  lake  all  day  long,  —  no  more  than 
a  large  fan  would  make.  No  carriage-road  leads  to 
Cadenabbia,1  —  only  a  foot- way,  along  the  borders  of  the 
lake,  between  it  and  many  villas.  It  is  directly  opposite 
Bellagio,  but  is  more  beautiful  and  more  desirable.  It 
was  very  difficult  to  get  away.  Going  there  for  one  night, 
we  stayed  a  week.  From  there  we  went  to  the  Villa 
d'  Este,  near  Como ;  thence  across  to  Luino  on  Lago 
Maggiore,  and  by  steamer  to  Baveno.  From  Baveno  to 
Duomo  d'  Ossola ;  and  over  the  Simplon,  through  the  val 
ley  of  the  Ehone,  to  this  place.  You  know  the  road,  and 
you  know  Vevey  and  the  Hotel  Monnet.  But  do  you 
know  Cadenabbia  ? 

After  all,  nothing  quite  equals  the  sea-breeze  of  Nahant 
and  Manchester  in  the  heat  of  summer.  This  to  comfort 
you. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

HOTEL  WINDSOR,  RUE  DE  RIVOLI,  PARIS,  October  18,  1868. 

When  in  London,  last  week,  I  sent  from  the  Langham 
Hotel  a  box  of  books  and  papers  to  your  care.  I  hope 
they  will  pass  the  custom-house  without  duty,  being  only 
presentation  copies  of  books,  and  odds  and  ends  which 
accumulated  on  my  hands  in  London  and  were  left  there. 
Here  in  Paris,  I  have  made  a  pretty  large  collection  of 
books. 

I  was  three  days  in  London.2  I  saw  Burlingame,  who 
was  looking  well,  and  took  a  quiet  view  of  the  opposition 

1  One  has  since  been  made  from  Menaggio. 

2  He  had  run  over  to  secure  the  copyright  on  the  New  England 
Tragedies. 


114  LETTERS.  [1868. 

to  his  mission  manifested  by  the  English  papers.  I  saw 
also  Bandmann  the  tragedian,  who  expressed  the  liveliest 
interest  in  what  I  told  him  of  the  Tragedies. 

20th.  Bandmann  writes  me  a  nice  letter  about  the 
Tragedies,  but  says  they  are  not  adapted  to  the  stage.  So 
we  will  say  no  more  about  that  for  the  present. 

21st.  I  have  left  my  letter  open  for  a  day,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  time  to  write  more.  But  the  busy  idleness  of 
Paris  is  too  much  for  me ;  and  "  days  are  lost  lamenting 
o'er  lost  days."  Yesterday  I  went  to  visit  the  old  Hue  du 
Fouarre  (Paradiso  x.,  note  137).  When  you  come  to 
Paris  you  must  not  fail  to  see  it,  as  it  is  one  of  the  oldest 
streets.  I  shall  bring  home  a  picture  of  it,  as  an  illustra 
tion  to  our  Landscape  Dante. 

I  have  seen  Charles  Brunei,  the  translator  of  'Evan- 
geline;'and  PreVost  Paradol,  a  good  writer  on  politics; 
and  Sainte-Beuve.  My  visit  to  him  I  shall  give  you  in 
detail  when  we  meet.  Lamartine  I  have  not  seen.  He 
is  ill,  and  failing  fast,  they  say.  My  chief  amusement  in 
Paris  is  buying  books  and  seeing  some  comedy  of  Moliere 
at  the  Theatre  Francois.  We  have  very  pleasant  rooms, 
looking  upon  the  Tuileries  gardens,  —  airy  and  sunny. 

To  J.  R.  Lowell 

HOTEL  DELL'  ARNO,  FLORENCE,  November  29,  1868. 

My  first  act  in  Florence  was  to  read  your  letter ;  my 
second  is  to  answer  it  and  return  the  petition  signed.  I 
will  write  to  Sumner  to-day. 

We  arrived  last  night  from  Bologna,  by  the  railway 
over  and  through  the  Apennines,  with  forty-five  tunnels. 
A  soft  moonlight  night,  with  glimpses  of  valley  and  river 
and  town  ;  very  beautiful. 

We  are  sumptuously  lodged  in  a  palace  on  the  Lung' 
Arno,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  My 


1869.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  115 

bedroom,  looking  over  the  river,  is  thirty-three  feet  by 
thirty,  and  high  in  proportion.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  sleep 
ing  in  some  public  square,  —  that  of  the  Gran  Duca,  for 
instance,  with  the  David  and  the  Perseus  looking  at  me. 
I  was  there  this  morning  before  breakfast ;  so  that  I  fairly 
woke  up  there,  and  rubbed  my  eyes  and  wondered  if  I 
were  awake  or  dreaming. 

I  congratulate  you  upon  having  passed  the  fever  of  a 
Presidential  election.  But  this  was  one  in  which  I  should 
like  to  have  had  a  hand.  I  am  sorry  not  to  have  voted. 

Appleton  left  us  at  Genoa,  and  went  with  Ernest  to 
Naples  by  sea,  in  search  of  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius. 
I  hope  they  got  there  in  season,  but  doubt  it.  We  came 
on  by  Piacenza,  Parma,  and  Bologna.  Ah,  how  I  wish 
we  could  have  a  Memorial  Hall  [in  Cambridge]  after  the 
model  of  the  old  University  at  Bologna !  If  we  built  only 
one  side  of  the  quadrangle  at  first,  it  would  be  enough 
for  our  day.  Do  you  remember  it?  A  noble  building, 
with  all  its  memorials  of  professors  and  students. 

Journal. 

Sorrento,  March  25, 1869.  Six  sunless  windows  looking 
out  on  a  sunless  sea,  —  such  is  our  welcome  at  La  Sirena. 
I  remember  the  old  English  song,  — 

"  He  that  the  Siren's  hair  would  win 
Is  mostly  strangled  in  the  tide." 

But  the  Siren  sings  sweetly  at  dinner.  The  dining-room 
is  like  a  vast  bird-cage.  There  is  a  marvellous  clock  in  it, 
and  the  dinner  excellent. 

26th.  We  walk  between  the  showers  through  the  nar 
row  streets  of  this  picturesque  old  town.  In  the  market 
place  "  Antonio  della  piccola  Marina  "  smiles  upon  us  and 
offers  his  boat  for  Capri ;  and  in  competition  Salvatore 
suggests  donkeys  for  Massa.  The  rain  answers,  No !  This 


116  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1869. 

is  no  weather  for  Capri  or  for  Massa.  In  the  evening,  a 
gloomy  procession  with  torches,  and  a  wonderful  wooden 
image  of  Christ  carried  on  a  bier.  The  Sorrentines  are 
very  fond  of  this  image.  It  was  made  by  an  unknown 
stranger,  who  took  refuge  in  the  church,  having  commit 
ted  some  unknown  crime.  "  No  one,"  say  the  Sorrentines, 
"  not  even  the  most  learned  lawyers  in  Naples,  can  tell  of 
what  wood  it  is  made." 

27th.  A  brighter  day.  We  change  our  quarters  from 
the  Sirena  to  the  Villa  Nardi,  which  has  ample  garden- 
terraces  overlooking  the  sea,  hundreds  of  feet  plumb  down. 
Part  of  the  morning  we  give  to  buying  the  beautiful  wood 
work,  the  legni  intarsi  of  Sorrento.  In  the  evening  read 
in  Miss  Kavanagh's  Two  Sicilies,  the  description  of  her 
stay  in  Sorrento. 

29th.  After  a  night  of  storm,  a  day  of  alternate  cloud 
and  sunshine.  The  sea  blue,  and  across  the  sea  Vesuvius, 
with  his  white  plume  of  smoke  flattened  by  the  wind, 
and  behind  Vesuvius  the  Appenines  covered  with  snow. 

"  Even  as  the  snow  among  the  living  rafters 
Upon  the  back  of  Italy  congeals, 
Blown  on  and  drifted  by  Sclavonian  winds." 

After  breakfast  made  an  excursion  to  Conti  Fontanella 
on  the  mountain-ridge  back  of  the  town,  —  Ernest  and  I 
on  foot,  and  five  of  our  ladies  on  five  donkeys,  named 
respectively  Monaca,  Maccaroni,  Masantonio,  Cardinale, 
and  Secatella.  From  the  summit  a  fine  view.  A  good 
three  hours'  walk. 

30th.  The  terrace  of  the  Villa  Nardi,  hanging  over 
the  sea,  is  protected  by  a  parapet  breast-high,  with  fre 
quent  embrasures  or  openings  with  iron  railings,  like 
balconies.  The  parapet  is  adorned  with  painted  busts 
of  terra  cotta.  A  stairway  of  stone,  partly  under  the  ter 
race,  partly  on  the  face  of  the  cliff,  leads  down  to  the 


1869.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  117 

beach ;  and  from  windows  in  the  covered  gallery  painted 
terra-cotta  heads  lean  out,  as  if  enjoying  the  view  and 
conversing  together.  I  should  like  to  note  down  their 
imaginary  conversations. 

31st.  A  bright,  beautiful  day  which  we  devote  to  the 
Island  of  Capri,  going  merrily  over  in  a  six-oared  galley 
under  the  guidance  of  "Antonio  della  piccola  Marina." 
The  words  of  cheer  uttered  by  the  boatmen  were  alter 
nately  San?  Anton'  !  and  Maccaroni  !  We  went  first  to 
the  Grotta  Azurra,  the  Blue  Grotto,  which  was  strange  and 
beautiful.  Then  we  landed  at  the  Marina,  amid  a  noisy 
crowd  of  men,  women,  and  donkeys,  and  climbed  the 
steep  hillside  to  the  Albergo  Tiberio,  once  a  convent.  We 
lunched  in  the  refectory,  with  its  huge  fireplace  and  Latin 
inscription. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fields. 

VILLA  NARDI,  SORRENTO,  ITALY,  April  2,  1869. 

MY  DEAR  FIELDS,  or  MRS.  FIELDS,  —  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  am  writing  to  you  or  to  your  wife  or  your  hus 
band,  so  intermingled  was  your  last  letter,  and  so  like  one 
of  those  Italian  words  that  have  a  masculine  singular  and 
a  feminine  plural.  No  matter ;  whatever  there  is  of  busi 
ness  in  my  answer  goes  by  right  to  Mr.  F.,  and  all  the  rest 
to  Mrs.  F. ;  the  whole  to  each  and  both. 

It  is  something  to  have  such  a  place  to  date  from  as 
the  Villa  Nardi,  Sorrento.  Incessant  oranges  and  lemons, 
and  also  incessant  rains,  —  like  an  endless  shower  of  lemon 
ade  ready  iced  by  the  snow  on  the  Apennines.  As  you 
have  already  been  in  Sorrento,  and  as  I  am  sixty-two  and 
not  sixteen,  I  will  spare  you  all  description  of  scenery. 
Having  one  pleasant  day  this  week,  we  went  to  Capri  and 
saw  the  Grotta  Azurra  and  the  ruins  of  the  Palace  of 
Tiberias,  —  the  Salto  di  Timberio  as  the  Capriotes  call  it, 


118  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1869. 

instead  of  Tiberio.  On  the  way  home  six  lusty  oarsmen 
sang  at  the  top  of  their  voices  the  song  0  Pescator  dell' 
onda;  but  they  sang  it  0  Pescator  di  Londra,  —  as  if 
invoking  the  ancient  guild  of  the  Fishmongers. 

In  Naples  I  saw  the  banished  partner  of  the  vanished 
house  of  Ticknor  and  Fields.  Banishment  does  not  seem 
to  disagree  with  him;  and  he,  no  doubt,  owes  this  to 
receiving  regularly  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  I  have  signed 
the  document  you  sent  me,  and  will  hand  it  to  you  when 
we  meet.  You  see  there  is  no  lost  letter  after  all.  Alas, 
for  the  lost  Chateau  Yquem  !  Never  mind,  I  will  send 
home  some  Capri  almost  as  good. 

I  am  very  glad  you  are  coming  so  soon.  Do  join  us  in 
the  north  of  Italy  in  May. 


April  7.  Went  to  an  orange  orchard  where  we  ate  our 
fill  of  oranges  from  the  trees. 

8th.  In  the  afternoon  went  to  see  the  orange  and 
lemon  packing  in  an  old  dilapidated  palace ;  afterward  to 
see  a  bust  of  Tasso  in  the  house  of  Signor  Annuvola ;  then 
to  what  remains  of  the  house  in  which  he  was  born.  In 
the  garden  is  a  laurel-tree. 

10th.  The  Signor  Gargiullo  is  all  politeness  and  hos 
pitality.  From  the  terrace  of  his  house  at  Capo  di  Massa 
is  a  splendid  view  of  Capri.  East  and  west  of  Sorrento 
runs  a  deep  ravine  or  burrone  opening  on  the  sea  and 
forming  the  natural  fortification  of  the  town.  These  are 
crossed  by  bridges,  and  formerly  there  were  lofty  stone 
gates  ;  but  these,  alas  !  the  Syndic  of  Sorrento  in  his  rage 
for  modern  improvements  has  taken  down,  to  the  great 
loss  of  picturesqueness. 

llth.  This  is  the  loveliest  of  the  lovely  days  by  the 
sea.  A  white  cloud  hovers  above  Vesuvius,  and  the  snow 
on  the  Apennines  gleams  with  a  rosy  hue.  A  thin,  tender 


1869.]  JOURNAL.  119 

haze  lies  along  the  horizon,  a  sail  or  two,  here  and  there, 
and  dolphins  disport  themselves  in  the  water.  This  is  more 
like  the  home  of  the  Sirens  than  anything  we  have  seen. 
Looking  at  this,  we  pass  hours  on  the  terrace,  till  idleness 
becomes  almost  oppressive.  Our  stay  at  Sorrento  is  draw 
ing  to  a  close.  I  am  not  very  sorry.  I  do  not  like  to 
stay  so  long  in  a  place  as  to  have  regrets  at  leaving  it. 
And  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  growing  a  little  weary  of  this 
vita  beata  of  the  sea-side,  with  nothing  to  do.  Or  am  I 
hurried  by  what  still  remains  to  be  done  ? 

12th.  The  weather  has  become  enchanting.  At  sun 
rise  this  morning  the  lemon  gardens  about  the  house  rang 
with  the  song  of  the  birds.  As  the  Scotch  poet  Dunbar 
says  so  poetically, — 

"  The  sky  was  full  of  shoutings  of  the  larks." 

13th.  This  morning  at  eight  we  leave  Sorrento  for 
Amalfi. 

May  16.  "We  reached  Cadenabbia  and  this  pleasant 
Hotel  Belle  Vue  yesterday  afternoon.  We  find  everything 
as  lovely  as  we  left  it  in  August.  This  is  a  silent,  sunny 
Sunday.  Only  the  soft  bells  from  the  distant  villages  on 
the  lake  chiming  a  while,  then  all  is  still  again,  save  the 
birds  singing  in  the  woods ;  as  when  the  organ  ceases,  but 
the  choir  sings  on.  It  is  Whitsunday.  Before  dinner,  a 
walk  down  the  lake,  past  the  Villa  Somariva  to  Tremezzo. 
After  dinner  a  walk  up  the  lake,  half-way  to  Menaggio. 

19th.  The  whole  valley  of  the  lake  full  of  the  sound 
of  bells  and  the  songs  of  birds.  After  breakfast,  a  row ; 
then  reading  till  dinner.  Cadenabbia  is  a  handful  of 
houses  on  the  western  shore,  opposite  Bellagio,  its  rival 
as  a  place  of  summer  resort.  No  carriage  road  leads  to  it, 
and  there  is  no  sound  of  wheels  or  hoofs  to  break  the 
stillness.  All  round  rise  the  beautiful  green,  folded  hills. 


120  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1869. 

In  the  morning  the  cool  north  wind  blows  down  the  lake  ; 
in  the  afternoon  the  "  Brera  "  springs  up  from  the  south.1 

20th.  The  girls  go  to  row  and  I  take  a  solitary  walk 
along  the  lake  to  Tremezzo  and  beyond,  —  mile  after  mile 
of  villas  and  villages,  with  gardens  and  flights  of  stone 
steps  leading  down  into  the  lake  or  up  among  the  gardens. 
A  lovely  walk  for  a  cloudy  day,  having  roses  for  sunshine. 
In  the  afternoon  we  rowed  across  the  lake  to  the  village 
and  waterfall  of  Fiume-Latte,  the  Eiver  of  Milk,  just 
below  Varenna.  On  the  hillside  above  the  village  it  hangs 
like  a  fleece.  We  climbed  to  where  it  springs  full-grown 
out  of  a  cavern  in  the  rock. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

CADENABBIA,  May  20,  1869. 

I  was  delighted,  yesterday,  to  receive  your  bit  of  a  note 
and  to  know  that  you  are  all  safe  in  London.  We  find  it 

1  No  sound  of  wheels  or  hoof-beats  breaks 

The  silence  of  the  summer  day, 
As  by  the  loveliest  of  all  lakes 
I  while  the  idle  hours  away. 

By  Somariva'3  garden  gate 

I  make  the  marble  stairs  my  seat, 
And  hear  the  water,  as  I  wait, 

Lapping  the  steps  beneath  my  feet. 

The  hills  sweep  upward  from  the  shore, 

With  villas  scattered  one  by  one 
Upon  their  wooded  spurs,  and  lower, 

Bellagio  blazing  in  the  sun. 

And  dimly  seen,  a  tangled  mass 

Of  walls  and  wood,  of  light  and  shade, 

Stands  beckoning  up  the  Stelvio  Pass 
Varenna  with  its  white  cascade. 

Cadenabbia. 


1869.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  121 

hard  to  get  out  of  Italy  or  any  other  country.  There 
never  was  a  family  that  dragged  along  like  this.  Every 
town  seems  a  quicksand  in  which  we  sink  to  the  knees. 
On  Saturday,  or  Monday,  or  some  other  day  of  the  week, 
or  of  next  month,  we  are  going  to  Venice,  to  sink  in  the 
mud  for  an  unknown  length  of  time.  Then  to  Verona, 
Innsbruck,  Nuremberg,  Dresden,  Paris.  And  there  we 
shall  hope  to  meet  you,  as  it  may  not  be  sooner. 


22d.  A  thistle-down  of  cloud  trailing  along  the  moun 
tains.  A  visit  to  the  silkworms.  Then  a  row  to  the 
beautiful  Villa  Giulia  on  the  Lecco  branch  of  the  lake. 
Lovely  terraces,  full  of  roses  of  all  kinds. 

23d.  The  walk  along  the  lake  under  the  plane-trees 
from  the  hotel  to  the  Villa  Carlotta  (or  Somariva)  ever 
beautiful.  A  merle  in  a  cage  is  singing  gayly ;  the  voice 
of  the  English  clergyman  comes  up  from  the  reading-room 
below.  All  else  is  silent  as  silent  as  can  be. 

Farewell,  Cadenabbia!  Farewell  the  dancing  boats 
Pepina  and  Sylphide;  farewell  the  jolly  boatmen  Fran 
cesco  and  Achille;  farewell  the  venders  of  olive-wood 
under  the  plane-trees,  Marianna  and  pretty  Lucia  of 
Tremezzo ! 

From  Mrs.  F (in  England). 

July  21,  1869. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW, — At  the  risk  of  being  thought 
troublesome,  I  venture  to  forward  a  note  from  E.  J.  Eeed, 
C.  B.,  the  Chief  Constructor  to  our  Navy,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  ship-builders  the  world  ever  produced,  in  which 
he  speaks  most  highly  of  your  poem,  'The  Building  of 
the  Ship.' 


122  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1869. 

As  Apelles  liked  the  sandal-maker's  criticism  on  the 
sandal  of  one  of  his  figures,  so  you  may  approve  of  Mr. 
Keed's  testimony  in  favor  of  the  truth  of  your  poem. 

[From  Mr.  Reed's  Note.] 

ADMIRALTY,  July  20. 

I  should  have  been  so  pleased  to  meet,  and  pay  my 
profound  respects  to,  the  author  of  the  finest  poem  on 
ship-building  that  ever  was,  or  probably  ever  will  be, 
written,  —  a  poem  which  I  often  read  with  the  truest 
pleasure.  

August  31.     Arrived  in  New  York  from  Liverpool. 

September  1.     Reached  Cambridge  at  sunset. 

15th.  In  town  on  business;  boxes  and  custom-house 
duties.  I  mean  to  become  a  free-trader  as  soon  as 
possible. 

18th.  At  the  custom-house  for  a  long  while.  Healy's 
picture  of  Liszt  has  arrived.  The  Collector  gives  a  free 
pass  for  it,  and  for  my  books  (as  professional). 

To  G.  W.  Curtis. 

September  19,  1869. 

I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  your  pleasant  words  of 
welcome  home.  As  we  steamed  up  the  beautiful  harbor 
of  New  York  and  passed  your  green  island,  I  tried  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  your  roof  and  chimneys;  but  I  saw 
only  those  of  a  neighbor  of  yours,  who  stood  at  my  side 
on  deck  and  pointed  them  out  to  me  in  triumph.  I 
warmed  towards  him  when  he  said  that  he  knew  you,  and 
sent  you  a  message  by  him  as  he  departed  in  the  tug  of 
the  Port  physician. 

And  so,  here  we  are  again  safe  and  sound  in  the  Craigie 
House,  which  had  begun  to  grow  vapory  and  hazy  in  the 


1869.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  123 

splendors  of  great  towns  across  the  sea.  It  is  pleasant  to 
get  back  to  it,  and  yet  sad.  I  do  not  know  whether  to 
laugh  or  cry. 

T.  came  back  with  us ;  but  is  rather  restless,  I  think. 


October  2.  In  the  afternoon  Greene  departs  for  home, 
and  I  drive  over  to  Brookline  to  meet  Sir  Henry  Holland 
at  dinner,  at  Mr.  Winthrop's.  Sir  Henry  is  Dr.  Holland. 
He  said  he  had  known  Wordsworth,  Byron,  Moore,  Cole 
ridge,  and  Campbell,  as  their  medical  attendant.  A  curious 
experience.  He  said  also  that  he  attended  Mme.  D'Arblay 
in  the  last  years  of  her  life  ;  that  she  had  a  great  aversion 
to  water,  and  had  not  washed  for  fifteen  years. 

7th.  Full  of  cares  of  many  kinds,  and  memories  of  the 
past ;  but  I  will  not  record  them. 

8th.  The  world  without  is  splendid  in  its  autumnal 
glories.  It  is  darker  within.  To-day  has  been  a  day  of 
many  vexations ;  but  they  will  soon  be  forgotten.  Went 
to  town.  Saw  Sumner,  busy  on  his  lecture,  "Caste." 
Called  on  Mr.  Ticknor,  who  is  very  cordial  and  kind. 


From  R.  W.  Emerson. 

CONCORD,  October  10,  1869. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  First,  I  rejoice  that  you  are 
safe  at  home  ;  and,  as  all  mankind  know,  full  of  happy 
experiences,  of  which  I  wished  to  gather  some  scraps  at 
the  Club  of  Saturday.  To  my  dismay,  at  midnight  I  dis 
covered  that  I  had  utterly  forgotten  the  existence  of  the 
Club.  Yesterday  I  met  Appleton,  who  ludicrously  con 
soled  me  by  affirming  that  yourself,  and  himself,  had 
made  the  same  slip.  I  entreat  you  not  to  fail  on  the 
thirtieth  of  October. 


124  LETTERS.  [1869. 

Next,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  punctual  remem 
brance  of  Admiral  Brown's  commission,  —  though  a  slight 
failure  of  memory  here  would  perhaps  cost  fewer  sighs 
than  the  alarming  ones  above-mentioned. 
With  all  kind  regards, 

R  W.  EMERSON. 

To  Robert  Ferguson. 

October  15,  1869. 

It  is  high  time  that  I  gave  you  tidings  of  Craigie  House 
and  its  inhabitants.  I  should  have  done  so  sooner  but  for 
all  kinds  of  interruptions  and  occupations.  Apenas  llego, 
cuando  llego  d  penas,1  says  some  forlorn  punster  in  some 
Spanish  play  ;  and  it  is  pretty  true  of  every  one  who 
has  been  away  from  home  for  a  year  and  a  day,  as  we 
have. 

Alas  for  the  Lagrima !  When  Scala  bottled  it,  he  cast 
an  Evil  Eye  upon  it,  because  I  did  not  buy  it  of  him. 
Owing  to  this  and  to  bad  corks,  it  came  to  grief  and  is  as 
sour  as  the  Saturday  Eeview.  I  have  also  three  paintings 
soaked  in  bilge-water;  but,  to  make  amends,  my  books 
have  thus  far  come  safe  and  dry.  The  beautiful  and  valu 
able  ones  which  you  gave  me  adorn  my  study  table,  and 
are  a  constant  reminder  of  you  and  all  your  kindness.2 

1  Hardly  do  I  come  back  when  I  come  back  to  hardships. 

3  Among  these  books  was  a  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  the  Sibyl 
line  Leaves,  —  Coleridge's  own  copy,  with  notes  in  his  handwriting. 
4  The  Ancient  Mariner '  in  this  volume  contains  the  following  verse, 
noted  in  the  margin  —  "  to  be  struck  out,  S.  T.  C." 

"  A  gust  of  wind  sterte  up  behind 
And  whistled  through  his  bones  ; 

Through  the  holes  of  his  eyes  and  the  hole  of  his  mouth, 
Half  whistles  and  half  groans." 

It  follows  the  verse  beginning  "The  naked  hulk  alongside  came." 
Mr.  Longfellow's  study-table  already  held  an  inkstand  which  had 


1869.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  125 

• 

My  girls  are  well  and  happy.  I  think  they  miss  now 
and  then  the  excitement  of  travel ;  and  who  does  not  ? 
Even  the  undersigned  pleads  guilty  to  an  occasional  sigh 
for  the  far  away. 


17th.  I  am  as  good  as  ever  at  forgetting  my  journal. 
But  who  wants  to  be  a  Crabbe  Robinson  ?  What  have  I 
done  the  past  week  ?  Finished  the  revision  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  for  a  new  edition,  and  translated  a  lyric  of  Mer- 
cantini,  La  Spigolatrice  di  Sapri.1  Also  have  unpacked 
endless  boxes,  attended  a  meeting  of  the  Historical  Society, 
and  run  to  and  fro  about  the  Brighton  meadows.  This 
evening  I  read  John  Neal's  autobiography,  —  a  curious 
book,  interesting  to  me  from  personal  recollections. 

18th.  The  Brighton  meadows  are  as  good  as  saved  for 
the  University,  though  not  yet  bought.  Got  Parsons  the 
carpenter  to  make  book-shelves  in  the  attic.  Talked  with 

Parsons  the  Professor  about  's  strange  will.  T.  at 

dinner. 

November  1.  Got  out  my  Bodonis  from  their  box.2 
All  in  good  order. 

6th.  Mr.  Clarke  at  dinner,  —  "Conversation  Clarke," 
he  is  sometimes  called,  from  his  powers  in  that  way.  In 

belonged  to  Coleridge,  a  gift  from  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall,  who  also  gave  him 
the  inkstand  which  had  belonged  to  George  Crabbe  and  afterward  to 
Thomas  Moore.  Showing  the  Coleridge  inkstand  to  a  rustic  visitor 
one  day,  Mr.  Longfellow  said  "Perhaps  the  'Ancient  Mariner'  was 
written  from  this."  The  stranger  looked  blank  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  "  And  the  '  Old  Oaken  Bucket,'  who  done  that  ?  " 
1  'The  Gleaner  of  Sapri.' 

"  They  were  three  hundred,  they  were  young  and  strong, 
And  they  are  dead  !  " 

Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  1871  ;  p.  885. 

8  Some  fine  vellum-bound  folios  from  the  famous  press  in  Parma. 


126  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1869. 

the  evening  read  II  Podere,  of  Tansillo,  —  a  very  clever,  if 
not  very  poetic,  poem. 

20th.  Dined  with  Mr.  Winthrop,  to  meet  Pere  Hya- 
cinthe,  the  preacher  of  Notre  Dame,  Paris.  I  had  seen 
him  in  Paris,  in  his  Carmelite  dress.  He  has  now  laid  it 
aside,  being  excommunicated,  and  wears  only  the  petit 
collet.  A  quiet,  pleasant  man,  with  soft,  low  voice. 

22d.  Pere  Hyacinthe  dined  with  us  quietly.  We  had 
Agassiz,  T.,  and  S.  to  meet  him.1 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

November  30,  1869. 

Have  the  goodness  to  look  over  this  poem,  for  the  sake 
of  the  lady  who  wrote  it.  Like  it,  if  possible,  and  keep  it. 
If  impossible,  send  it  back  to  me  by  Sawin,  and  I  will  do 
my  best  to  console  her. 

Hoping  that  you  have  accepted  Miss  B 's  lines,  I 

remain  yours  truly  (otherwise  quite  the  reverse). 

P.  S.  I  enclose  a  note  for  Aldrich.  What  a  clever 
story  he  has  written  ! 

December  1.  December  begins  with  a  warm,  spring 
like  day.  There  is  no  snow,  and  there  are  buds  on  the 
honeysuckles.  Wasted  the  day  in  arranging  book-cases. 

4th.  Dined  with  T.,  to  meet  George  Curtis  ;  the  other 
guests,  Agassiz,  Lowell,  and  Dana.  Afterwards,  late  at 
night,  I  read  Lowell's  new  poem,  '  The  Cathedral.'  It  is 
very  beautiful,  and  more  than  that. 

5th.  Eead  again  '  The  Cathedral,'  and  like  it  better 
even  than  at  first. 

1  M.  Loyson  afterward  wrote  to  his  host,  "  Je  garde  la  noble 
devise  que  vous  m'  avez  fait  1'  honneur  de  me  donner  : 

Libert^  va  cercando,  ch'  e  si  cara, 
Come  sa  chi  per  lei  vita  rifiuta." 


1869.]  JOURNAL.  127 

7th.  Snowing  still.  We  are  beleaguered  by  winter. 
I  feel  the  cold  very  much,  in  contrast  with  last  year  in 
Rome. 

8th.  Bright  and  cold.  But  why  keep  a  journal  of  the 
weather  ?  It  is  very  lonely  here  in  Cambridge.  Nothing 
seems  to  move. 

17th.  All  the  morning  at  the  custom-house,  plagued 
with  red  tape.  •  If  I  went  in  a  Protectionist,  I  came  out  a 
Free-trader. 

An  old  Italian  woman  came  here  to-day  and  brought 
me  a  Christmas-tree  as  a  present;  a  Christmas-tree  full 
of  little  wax  birds,  —  red,  green,  and  white.  She  said  it 
was  made  by  her  son,  who  "  has  a  great  talent  for  music." 
I  asked  her  if  he  played  any  instrument.  "  Oh,  yes," 
she  said ;  "  he  goes  round  with  a  hand-organ  and  a  little 
monkey." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 
1870. 

January  1.  A  lovely  morning ;  the  warm  sun  shining 
through  a  soft  haze.  As  beautiful  as  Italy. 

2d.  A  pouring  rain,  but  not  cold ;  reminding  one  of 
Rome  and  Naples.  I  stay  at  home  and  read,  and  feel  pro 
tected  from  external  annoyances. 

5th.  All  the  morning  interrupted  by  callers.  The 
door-bell  ringing  incessantly. 

6th.  Flying  cloud-rack.  At  two  o'clock  T  saw  what  I 
never  saw  before,  —  a  rainbow  above  the  sun,  like  a  gar 
land  hung  in  the  sky,  not  like  the  arch  of  a  bridge. 

9th.  A  letter  from  Sam  Ward,  with  some  of  his  clever 
French  poems. 

10th.  Walked.  Read  Crabbe  Robinson,  and  Grimm's 
Correspondence.  A  young  poet  called. 

13th.  Passed  the  day  in  putting  up  books  and  pic 
tures.  Where  I  shall  find  room  for  them  all  I  really  do 
not  know ;  but  they  cannot  be  left  piled  upon  the  floor. 

14th.  Called  upon  Palfrey,  and  Agassiz,  who  has  had 
for  a  week  no  return  of  his  malady.  Palfrey  dined  with 
me. 

17th.  Have  been  reading  lately  some  of  Victor  Hugo's 
dramas.  Great  power  of  all  kinds,  and  great  extrava 
gance.  Perhaps  exaggeration  is  necessary  for  the  stage ; 
I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is.  A  play,  like  a  bust  or  statue 
destined  for  a  large  room,  must  be  a  little  larger  than  life. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  129 

24th.  Go  to  the  Harvard  Musical  Association  supper, 
and  carry  as  a  present  to  their  library  a  Canon  Missce  Pon- 
tificalis,  printed  in  1725. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

January  25,  1870. 

My  opinion  very  decidedly  is,  that  the  passage  from 
Leibnitz  should  stand  on  the  title-page.  It  is  dignified 
and  appropriate.  For  the  other  motto  there  seems  to  be 
no  place,  and  therefore  I  should  omit  it. 

I  have  just  been  looking  over  the  Table  of  Contents  in 
the  three  volumes  of  your  first  edition :  each  title  a  round 
in  the  ladder  by  which  you  mounted,  and  reaching  from 
1845  to  1855.  What  a  noble  decade,  and  what  a  noble 
record  !  I  say  the  "  rounds  of  a  ladder ; "  let  me  rather  say 
steps  hewn  in  the  rock,  one  after  the  other,  as  you  toiled 
upward. 

This  is  a  dark,  rainy  day,  and  to-night  T.  gives  a  ball 
at  Papanti's.  I  shall  go,  but  you  can  imagine  with  what 
heart.  The  waters  of  Lethe  are  a  fable;  there  is  no 
nepenthe. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

January  27,  1870. 

Never  having  dealt  with  any  other  figures  than  figures 
of  speech ;  never  having  known  the  difference  between  a 
bank-note  and  a  greenback ;  never  having  suspected  that 
there  was  any  difference  between  them,  —  you  can  imagine 
with  what  a  dark-lantern  I  have  read  your  speech  on  the 
Eefunding  and  Consolidation  of  the  National  Debt. 

I  am  as  capable  of  forming  an  idea  of  it  as  a  gentleman 
was  the  other  day  of  estimating  a  lovely  little  Albani's 
"Europa"  which  I  showed  him,  when  he  said,  "A  chromo 
lithograph,  I  presume." 

However,  I  have  faith  in  you ;  and  faith  is  "  the  evi 
dence  of  things  unseen,"  —  though  I  think  that  before 

9 


130  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

having  it,  one  must  have  seen  something  or  other  which 
inspires  it.  This  is  just  my  case.  Having  known  you  so 
wise  and  far-seeing  in  other  matters,  I  believe  you  to  be 
in  this.  And  I  am  confirmed  in  iny  belief  by  a  Boston 
merchant  who  was  here  a  few  days  ago,  and  desired  me 
to  say  to  you  how  much  he  admired  this  speech,  and  how 
entirely  he  agreed  with  it. 


31st.  Breakfasted  at  six.  Walked  to  the  Square 
with  Greene,  on  his  way  to  Providence.  A  calm,  peace 
ful,  overclouded,  winter  day.  In  the  evening  began  a 
story  in  verse,  '  The  Bell  of  Atri,'  for  a  second  day  of  the 
Wayside  Inn. 

February  21.  I  like  all  kinds  of  weather,  except  cold 
weather. 

22d.  A  day  of  disagreeable  sensations,  Washington's 
birthday  though  it  be.  A  northwest  wind  blowing,  and 
dust  flying.  A  northwest  newspaper,  in  which  I  have 
been  "  interviewed,"  and  private  conversation  reported  to 
the  public.  The  income-tax  bill  presented,  and  hours 
occupied  in  going  over  my  accounts,  to  have  everything 
right. 

25th.  Lunched  with  Fields,  to  meet  Fechter,  the  trage 
dian,  —  an  agreeable  man,  and  not  at  all  stagey. 

To  James  R.  Lowell. 

N'oubliez  pas  demain, 
A  une  heure  et  demie, 
Je  vous  en  prie  ; 
Huitres  et  vin  du  Rhin, 
Salad  e  de  homard, 
Volnay  et  venaison, 

Don,  Don, 

N'arrivez  pas  trop  tard ! 
Ce  Lundi,  28  Fevrier,  1870- 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  131 

March  1.  Fechter  comes  to  lunch  with  me.  Fields, 
Lowell,  and  Henry  James  the  other  guests.  Fechter  is 
very  amiable  and  natural,  and  has  a  good  deal  to  say. 

2d.  Call  from  young ,  who  has  sent  me  some  verses 

of  no  particular  merit.  I  like  him  much  better  than  his 
poems.  I  advised  him  not  to  think  of  poetry  as  a  pro 
fession,  as  he  evidently  wanted  my  opinion  on  that  point 
An  interesting  youth,  with  a  clear,  frank  look  in  his  eyes. 

3d.  Saw  Fechter's  Hamlet.  Very  unconventional,  — 
Harnlet  in  a  flaxen  wig.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  anything 
so  like  nature  on  the  stage ;  not  the  everlasting  mouthing 
and  ranting. 

5th.  Here  I  am,  scribbling,  and  reading  Hans  Ander 
sen's  Wonder  Stories,  and  wondering  whether  I  shall  ever 
write  anything  more. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

[With  a  newspaper  scrap :  "  Fechter  dined  with  Longfellow  yesterday."] 

March  12,  1870. 

We  live  in  nests,  and  not  in  houses.  The  penny-a-liner, 
the  Diable  Boiteux  of  the  Press,  has  unroofed  all  our  habi 
tations.  Shall  Fechter  dine  with  Longfellow  on  Tuesday, 
and  shall  it  be  a  secret  in  Chicago  on  Wednesday  ?  No  ! 
let  it  be  proclaimed  by  telegraph,  — 

"  And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak, 
The  trumpet  to  the  cannoneer  without, 
The  cannons  to  the  heavens,  the  heavens  to  earth, 
'  Now  the  King  drinks  to  Hamlet.' " 

Owen  was  here  all  yesterday  forenoon,  and  we  thor 
oughly  searched  the  five  great  folios  of  the  Florentine 
Museum,  looking  among  the  antique  gems  for  something 
fitting  to  adorn  the  cover  of  your  works.  The  nearest  was 
not  a  gem,  but  an  initial  letter,  —  a  female  figure  holding 


132  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

an  olive-branch.  There  is  another  with  a  torch.  Which 
do  you  prefer  ?  I  prefer  the  torch.  J.  0.  has  more  time 
to  spare  than  anybody  I  ever  knew.  His  day  has  twenty- 
six  hours  in  it. 

How  are  you  in  body  and  mind  ?  Well,  I  hope ;  work 
ing  hard,  I  know. 

Agassiz  is  no  better,  though  he  goes  out.  He  sees  no 
one. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

March  17,  1870. 

I  do  not  hear  from  you,  but  I  hear  of  you.  One  return 
ing  traveller  reports  that  you  are  the  leader  of  the  Senate, 
and  have  more  influence  than  any  man  there.  Another 
reports  that  you  have  the  best  cook  in  Washington  !  The 
view  becomes  stereoscopic.  Being  taken  from  two  points 
of  sight,  it  rounds  and  completes  the  portrait. 

A  pretty  dull  winter  this  has  been  in  Cambridge.  I 
see  no  one,  or  hardly  any  one  but  my  own  household. 
Agassiz  is  no  better.  For  nearly  three  months  now  he 
has  been  disabled ;  receives  no  visits ;  cannot  read  or  write 
a  letter.  I  greatly  fear  he  will  never  be  himself  again ; 
never  the  old  strength  and  the  old  power  of  work.  Cogs 
well  seldom  goes  out  of  the  house ;  Palfrey  is  far  away  ; 
Lowell  is  busy.  Not  a  very  lively  picture.  But  it  is  in 
credible  how  much  one  can  do  without,  in  this  world. 

Have  you  seen  Bryant's  Homer,  or  Emerson's  new  book, 
or  Lowell's  ?  All  good  reading. 

March  19. 

lo  dico  seguitando,  that  is,  continuing  my  letter  of  yes 
terday,  that  Winter  has  come  back  upon  us  like  Napoleon 
from  Elba ;  but  I  hope  not  for  a  hundred  days.  We  are 
beleaguered  by  snow-storms  and  shut  up  in  our  castles. 
You  remember  what  Cambridge  is  in  such  weather. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  133 

Writing  from  America,  De  Tocqueville  says  in  one  of 
his  letters,  "  On  jouit  ici  du  plus  pale  bonheur  qu'on  puisse 
imaginer."  I  have  been  trying  to-day  to  heighten  the 
color  of  my  pale  happiness  by  reading  Michelet's  Precis 
de  I'Histoire  de  France,  a  compendium  of  his  large  work, 
and  as  dry  as  the  pressed  meats  put  up  for  the  French 
army.  One  sentence  made  me  think  of  you.  "  Les  Ro- 
mains  virent  avec  honte  et  douleur  des  senateurs  gaulois 
sidgeant  entre  Cice'ron  et  Brutus."  For  Gaulois  read  Illi 
nois,  and  I  fancy  you  have  sometimes  felt  as  the  Eomans 
did. 

I  have  also  been  trying  to  follow  Dante  in  his  exile,  — 
a  hopeless  task.  One  gets  easily  as  far  as  Arezzo  ;  then 
all  is  confusion  as  to  dates. 


18th.  A  gentleman  in  Maine  wants  me  to  read  and 
criticise  "  an  Epic  Poem,"  which  he  has  written  on  the 
Creation,  "  the  six  days'  work,"  which,  he  says,  is  "  done  up 
in  about  six  hundred  lines." 

21st.  Go  to  the  Library  with  Greene,  through  mud  and 
mire.  Then  home,  and  read  to  him  Miss  Homer's  Life 
and  Times  of  Giusti,  the  Tuscan  poet.  He  departs  home 
ward,  and  I  give  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to  Miss  Froth- 
ingham's  translation  of  Hermann  und  Dorothea. 

29th.  For  the  last  few  days  I  have  read  nothing  but 
the  Comedies  of  Plautus,  translated  by  Thornton.  Very 
interesting  reading.  This  morning  Prior's  Danish  Ballads 
fell  in  my  way,  and  the  misty  world  of  the  North,  weird 
and  wonderful,  rose  before  me  in  place  of  the  Mediterranean 
shore. 

April  1.  I  have  been  reading,  through  the  past  week, 
nearly  all  of  Plautus,  and  am  rather  tired  of  pimps,  para 
sites,  and  debauchery  in  general.  What  a  state  of  society 
he  depicts  ! 


134  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

3d.  A  stormy  Sunday.  Keep  in  doors  mostly  ;  getting, 
for  air  and  exercise,  only  a  tramp  on  the  veranda.  Eead 
in  the  old  monkish  story-book,  the  Gesta  Romanorum. 

5th.  In  the  evening  read  '  The  Legend  of  Jubal,'  by 
Mrs.  Lewes,  —  a  poem  of  a  good  deal  of  power,  but  in  parts 
rather  confused,  as  the  "  new  style  "  poetry  often  is  to  me. 

6th.  Tom  Taylor's  Ballads  and  Songs  of  Brittany,  —  a 
charming  book. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

April  20,  1870. 
Some  English  poet  has  said  or  sung,  — 

"  At  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  hamlet  is  still, 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfulness  prove." 

I  wish  Hamlet  would  be  still !  I  wish  I  could  prove  the 
sweets  of  forgetfulness !  I  wish  Fechter  would  depart 
into  infinite  space,  and  "  leave,  oh,  leave  me  to  repose ! " 
When  will  this  disturbing  star  disappear,  and  suffer  the 
domestic  planetary  system  to  move  on  in  its  ordinary 
course,  and  keep  time  with  the  old  clock  in  the  corner  ? 

I  return  the  volume  you  sent  with  many  thanks  for 
your  kindness.  I  found  in  it  what  I  wanted.  I  never 
thought  that  I  should  come  back  to  this  kind  of  work.1 
It  transports  me  to  my  happiest  years,  and  the  contrast 
is  too  painful  to  think  of. 


May  1 .  For  the  last  week  or  two  I  have  been  at  work 
upon  a  Supplement  to  the  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe, 
and  have  made  several  translations  for  it,  —  such  as  '  Re 
morse,'  from  Platen,  '  The  Angel  and  Child,'  from  Eeboul, 
'  Consolation,'  from  Malherbe. 

1  He  was  engaged  upon  a  new  edition  of  the  Poets  and  Poetry  of 
Europe.  The  original  edition  was  prepared  just  after  his  marriage, 
in  1843. 


1870.]  JOURNAL.  135 

25th.  This  has  been  to  me  a  day  of  indescribable  men 
tal  suffering.  I  have  given  great  pain  to  others  ;  but  I 
could  not  do  otherwise  and  be  true  to  myself.  God  grant 
it  may  be  for  the  best ! 

June  3.  Eead  Disraeli's  new  novel,  Lothair.  It  is 
decidedly  clever,  and  refreshing  in  its  coolness  after  the 
hot  breath  of  most  modern  novels.  Still  the  old  love  of 
dukes  and  duchesses,  and  the  ligbt  touch  as  of  old. 

5th.  Eead  Hawthorne's  English  Notebooks.  Charm 
ingly  written.  If  he  had  prepared  them  for  printing,  they 
could  hardly  have  been  better. 

6th.  Howells's  lecture  on  Modern  Italian  Poets.  In 
the  evening  read  an  English  version  of  Mistral's  Proven- 
c,al  poem  Mireio,  —  very  striking,  and  full  of  strong,  sim 
ple  poetry ;  but  too  tragic,  and  encumbered  with  irrelevant 
materials  which  destroy  its  simplicity  as  a  tale. 

14th.  Heard  of  the  sudden  death  of  Charles  Dickens. 
I  can  think  of  nothing  else,  but  see  him  lying  there  dead 
in  his  house  at  Gad's  Hill. 

16th.  Went  with  President  Eliot  to  look  at  marsh 
land  on  Mount  Auburn  Street ;  then  called  on  Professor 
Fisher  of  Yale ;  and  in  the  afternoon  heard  him  lecture 
on  the  various  philosophic  views  of  the  existence  of 
evil  in  the  world,  —  the  Stoic,  the  Mediaeval,  and  the 
Modern. 

July  3.  It  is  as  much  trouble  to  go  to  Nahant  as  to 
Europe.  What  an  absurdity  to  break  up  one's  life  into 
fragments  in  this  way  ! 

4th.  Execute  the  deed  of  the  Brighton  Meadows  for 
the  College.  Write  to  the  President  and  Fellows.1 

1  Receiving  this  acknowledgment :  "The  President  and  Fellows 
of  Harvard  College  thank  you  very  heartily  for  the  valuable  gift  of 
land  in  Brighton  which  they  have  received  from  you  and  other 
friends  of  the  College.  They  have  observed  how  large  is  the  share 
which  you  and  your  family  have  in  the  subscription,  and  they  know 


136  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

10th.  Nahant.  In  the  new  church,  which  is  quaint 
and  village-like.  Mr.  Morison  preaches,  —  mild,  and  yet 
fervent. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  July  10,  1870. 

I  am  glad  you  have  finished  your  Siege  of  Ninety-Six, 
and  that  you  can  perfume  its  pages  with  a  remembrance 
of  Alba  Longa.  Bitter-sweet  memories !  They  have  a 
taste  of  the  rind  of  life  in  them,  but  nevertheless  are 
sweet  with  the  sweetness  of  youth. 

We  have  been  here  now  nearly  a  week.  The  air  is 
delightful,  and  most  things  unchanged; 

The  same  wind  blowing, 
The  same  sea  flowing  ; 
Only  the  beholder 
Grown  three  years  older. 

We  have  a  new  church  and  a  new  steamboat-landing,  and 
little  else  that  is  not  as  old  as  the  oldest  inhabitant. 

I  wish  this  faineant  Congress  would  rise,  and  let  Sum- 
ner  loose.  I  agree  with  him  about  the  Chinese,  and  about 
striking  the  word  white  out  of  every  law  of  the  land.  Of 
course  you  do. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

NAHANT,  July  18,  1870. 

I  have  just  received  your  letter,  and  deplore  with  you 
the  removal  of  Motley.1  It  is  a  gross  insult  to  him,  and 
a  very  disreputable  act  to  all  concerned  in  it.  And  now, 
it  seems,  the  office  is  to  go  a-begging,  like  the  Spanish 

that  they  are  indebted  exclusively  to  your  exertions  for  this  large 
and  promising  addition  to  their  territory."  There  were  some  seventy 
acres. 

1  Mr.  Lothrop  Motley  had  just  been  recalled  from  the  English 
Mission. 


1870.]  LETTERS.  137 

throne,  and  finally  we  shall  have  some sent  out  to 

disgrace  us  ! 

I  am  glad  you  are  released,  and  hope  that  as  soon  as 
possible  you  will  come  to  me.  I  have  a  room  for  you, 
and  all  things  necessary  for  your  comfort  in  a  small  way ; 
and  in  a  large  way,  gladness  to  see  you.  I  never  knew 
Nahant  in  finer  flavor  than  this  year.  It  is  a  delight  to 
look  at  the  sea ;  and  as  for  the  air,  none  is  so  good  for 
me.  Thalatta!  Thalatta  ! 

And  then  to  think  of  the  daily  chowder !  "Why,  no 
bouillabaisse  of  Aries  or  Marseilles  can  compare  with  it ! 
So  make  all  the  speed  you  can,  and  make  glad  my  heart. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

NAHANT,  July  29,  1870. 

You  see  by  the  spreading  of  the  ink  that  this  is  a  soft, 
misty  day.  Life  by  the  seaside  becomes  a  dream.  I  only 
dream  that  I  am  writing  to  you  to  say  that  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  go  to  town  to-morrow  for  the  Club  dinner,  as  Mr. 
C.  A.  L.,  of  the  yacht  "  Dauntless,"  is  expected  here,  and 
I  cannot  be  absent  on  such  an  occasion. 

I  have  dreamed  also  several  times  that  you  came  here 
to  dine ;  but  I  believe  we  have  only  made  believe  eat  and 
drink  together,  like  the  Barmecide  and  the  barber's  sixth 
brother,  and  that  the  real  dinner  is  yet  to  come.  I  have 
dreamed,  moreover,  that  I  went  to  Portland  last  week,  and 
on  arriving  walked  two  miles  into  the  country  after  sun 
set,  and  came  to  a  cottage1  and  saw  through  the  open 
door  Perabo  sitting  at  a  pianoforte,  playing  to  a  company 
of  girls ;  that  the  next  day  we  went  down  the  harbor  in  a 
vessel  belonging  to  the  Coast  Survey ;  that  I  became  so 
nautical  that,  on  our  safe  return  to  port,  I  bought  a  ba 
rometer  and  a  chronometer,  and  that  the  merchant  threw 

1  His  brother  Alexander's,  at  Highfield,  in  Westbrook. 


138  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

into  the  bargain  a  Nautical  Almanac,  from  which  I  learned 

that  — 

"  A  mackerel  sl<y  and  mares'  tails 

Make  tall  ships  carry  low  sails." 

Then  I  dreamed  about  coming  back  to  Nahant ;  and  that 
the  weather  was  very  hot  (which  I  knew  could  not  pos 
sibly  be  true,  because  I  was  by  the  seaside !) ;  and  that  I 
went  to  a  "spiritual  seance,"  and  saw  the  "medium" 
elongated,  —  which  I  knew  was  true,  because  he  was  lift 
ing  his  shoulders  and  standing  on  his  toes.  He  said  he 
felt  his  ribs  drawn  apart.  I  asked  him  how  it  was  with 
his  back-bone-  and  spinal  marrow.  He  modestly  an 
swered  that  he  did  not  know;  he  had  not  thought  of 
that.  He  was  pleased  at  being  called  Count  Cagliostro ; 
and  many  in  the  audience  considered  the  performance 
very  wonderful.  But  nothing  seems  strange  in  a  dream. 

And  now  I  dream  that  I  am  sitting  in  an  upper  room 
by  an  open  window,  and  have  just  received  a  poem  called 
'  Eamon's  Bride '  from  a  young  lady  in  New  South  Wales, 
and  that  you  are  going  to  publish  it  in  the  Atlantic,  and 
send  the  authoress  an  independent  fortune ! 

Yours  always,  dreaming  or  waking. 


30th.  A  whole  fortnight  of  idleness.  Eead  Curtis's 
Nile-Notes,  and  the  Arabian  Nights,  and  the  newspapers. 
C.  is  in  New  York,  just  from  England  in  the  yacht 
"  Dauntless," — beaten  by  the  English  yacht "  Cambria  "  one 
hour  and  a  few  minutes  only,  in  a  race  of  three  thousand 
miles ! 

August  1.  Sumner  lying  all  the  morning  in  a  ham 
mock  reading  Lothair.  Dine  with  him  and  T.  at  Mr. 
George  James's. 

There  is  nothing  more  disagreeable  than  long-continued 
and  enforced  idleness.  That  is  the  only  drawback  of 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  139 

Nahant  in  summer.  One  becomes  too  listless  and  lazy, 
and,  though  free  to  come  and  go,  feels  a  sense  of  impris 
onment.  All  summer  I  have  done  nothing  but  lounge 
and  read.  I  have  read  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  Dino  Com- 
pagni's  Cronica  di  Firenze,  and  one  volume  of  Lecky,  and 
a  good  deal  of  Sainte-Beuve's  Causeries  dc  Lundi.  I  have 
thought  of  translating  Dino  Compagni,  by  way  of  illus 
tration  to  the  Divina  Commedia ;  but  it  will  be  better  to 
make  extracts  only. 


From  Samuel  Ward. 

BASLE,  SWITZERLAND,  August  26,  1870. 

MY  DEAR  HEINRICH  VON  OFTERDINGEN,  —  When  I 
passed  through  Andernach  last  Sunday,  on  my  way  hither, 
dear  Paul  Flemming  rose  up  before  me  as  he  used  to 
emerge  from  his  bath  and  bedroom  on  those  blessed 
Sunday  mornings  of  yore,  and  after  lighting  his  spirit- 
lamp  under  the  Mocha,  to  walk  up  to  the  standing-desk 
near  the  window  and  sew  an  English  button  upon  Ali- 
ghieri's  tattered  gabardine.1  I  then  vowed  that  I  would, 
in  Europe  as  in  Nicaragua,  devote  the  first  spare  half- 
hour  to  you.  For  you  are  more  or  less  a  child  of  mine,  — 
at  least  I  have  been  the  family  physician  of  some  of  your 
bairns  ;  notably  '  The  Skeleton  in  Armor,'  '  The  Children 
of  the  Lord's  Supper,'  '  The  Two  Locks  of  Hair,'  and 
Hyperion.  To-morrow  I  start  for  Schaffhausen,  thence 
to  Zurich,  and  so  on  through  all  the  mazes  of  that  dance, 
with  mountains  and  glaciers  for  partners,  which  seems 
by  foretaste  worthy  to  be  called  the  "Swiss  Lancers." 
I  got  here  last  evening,  and  felt  like  a  grand  seigneur 

1  In  1843  Mr.  Longfellow  translated  some  portions  of  the  Divina 
Commedia,  in  the  fashion  here  noted,  while  his  morning  coffee  was 
making. 


140  LETTERS.  [1870. 

when  the  blue-and-gold-bedizened  chasseur  of  the  Trois 
Couronnes  ushered  me  up  the  tiled  steps,  on  the  lowest 
of  which  "  Salve  ! "  is  inscribed  in  mosaics.  I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  Paul  Flemming  or  Vivian  Grey  who  calls 
the  Aar  "  arrowy ; "  but  the  epithet  is  certainly  deserved 
by  the  rushing  river,  which,  flowing  through  this  bridge, 

"  Labitur,  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  sevum." 

The  view  from  the  dining-room  terrace  at  night-fall,  with 
the  swift  intermingling  and  passing  "  of  woven  paces  and 
of  waving  hands,"  reminded  me  of  the  lovely  bridge  at 
Lima,  which  I  often  saw  at  the  same  semi-nebulous  hour, 
and  was  more  moved  by  than  by  any  scene  I  had  then 
known,  —  in  1849.  This  morning  at  six,  as  I  was  dream 
ing  "  memories  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  a  blast  of  trumpets 
awoke  me,  and  I  rushed  to  the  window  and  beheld  a  troop 
of  cavalry  majestically  crossing  the  bridge.  The  morning 
sun  flashed  upon  their  morions,  and  I  was  transported  at 
least  two  centuries  back,  and  felt  that  glorious  chair  de 
poule  which  in  me  is  inseparable  from  genuine  emotion. 
I  pulled  my  right  ear  and  asked  myself :  "  Am  I  that  same 
poor  old  weather-beaten  Bohemian  who  four  weeks  ago 
was  perspiring  his  sixth  summer  in  Washington,  and  who 
am  here  realizing  at  fifty-six  my  boyish  dream  of  seeing 
Switzerland  ?"...!  saw  at  Liverpool  a  glorious  life-sized 
portrait  of  you  in  a  picture-dealer's  window.  I  mean  to 
buy  it  if  it  is  there  when  I  return  in  November.  And 
now,  while  the  majestic  river  is  passing  the  lights  of 
Kleiner  Basel,  opposite  my  window,  I  will  say  good-night 
in  a  scene  so  suggestive  of  our  lives  from  1836  to  1843. 
I  send  you  a  leaf  from  the  grave  of  Charras  which  I 
plucked  this  afternoon  in  the  cemetery  where  a  bronze 
bas-relief  <  perpetuates  in  the  wall  a  typical  Garibaldian 
head.  Poor  France!  Wretched  Napoleon!  Euthless 
Bismarck ! 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  141 

September  I.  Mr.  Bryce  and  Mr.  Dicey,  English  law 
yers  with  letters  from  Professor  Nichol,  pass  the  day 
with  us. 

5th.  C.  and  W.  set  sail  in  the  "Wyvern"  for  a  run 
down  the  coast.  Go  to  town.  News  of  the  surrender  of 
Napoleon  and  his  army  to  the  Prussians.  Mrs.  Hamil 
ton  reads  me  some  part  of  her  novel,  Woven  of  Many 
Threads. 

7th.     The  Eepublic  proclaimed  in  France ! 

8th.  Another  perfect  autumn  day.  It  is  enough  to 
sit  still  and  look  at  it  and  admire  its  beauty,  and  not 
attempt  to  describe  it,  even  in  verse. 

To  C.  E.  Norton  (in  Italy). 

NAHANT,  September  8,  1870. 

You  will  see  by  the  date  of  this  that  we  are  still  linger 
ing  by  the  sea-side.  The  autumnal  weather  is  in  all  its 
splendor.  You  cannot  beat  us  there,  though  I  confess 
that  the  Villa  Spanocchi  is  larger  than  the  Wetmore 
Cottage.  So  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned,  I  am  satis 
fied  that  I  made  a  great  mistake  in  not  staying  longer 
in  Europe.  You  were  wiser,  and  have  your  reward.  I  am 
still  hungry  for  more.  Enough  is  decidedly  not  as  good 
as  a  feast.  No  one  is  ever  satisfied  till  he  gets  too  much. 

Your  opinion  of  France  and  Prussia  is  also  mine  and 
that  of  most  Americans.  Now  that  the  Empire  is  no 
more,  let  there  be  war  no  more,  and  Vive  la  EepuUique ! 
for,  as  Emerson  sings,  "  God  said,  I  am  tired  of  kings." 

Agassiz  is  still  among  the  White  Mountains.  I  hear 
reports  of  his  being  better,  but  none  of  his  being  well. 
I  am  afraid,  I  am  afraid !  What  Lowell  is  doing,  I  do  not 
know.  He  has  had  Tom  Hughes  with  him;  but  I  did 
not  succeed  in  getting  them  here  to  dine,  and  have  not 
seen  the  "  Rugby  boy."  The  University  is  flourishing 


142  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

under  its  young  President  to  one's  heart's  content.  A 
few  of  us  have  just  presented  [to  it]  seventy  acres  of  the 
Brighton  meadows,  with  your  namesake  flowing  through 
it  and  making  its  favorite  flourish  of  the  letter  S.  During 
the  progress  of  this  transaction  I  was  assailed  in  the 
Legislature  by  an  irate  member,  who  accused  me  of  a  plot 
to  buy  up  lands  adjoining  the  projected  Park,  to  sell  to 
the  city  at  great  advance !  So  I  was  ranked  among  the 
speculators !  My  vulnerable  point  was  not  this,  but 
another;  namely,  that  I  wanted  to  keep  the  land  open 
in  front  of  my  own  house.  It  is  as  good  as  five  hundred 
dollars  in  your  pocket  that  you  were  not  here ;  for  you 
would  have  been  unable  to  resist  my  blandishments. 

I  wish  we  had  Euskin  here  to  lecture  on  art,  and  stir 
people  up  a  little  upon  the  subject.  The  last  time  I 
saw  him  was  at  Verona,  perched  upon  a  ladder,  copying 
some  detail  of  the  tomb  of  Can  Grande  over  the  church 
door;  thus  representing  the  coat-of-arms  of  the  Scala 
family  in  his  own  person.  I  admired  his  enthusiasm  and 
singleness  of  purpose.  How  good  his  description  of  the 
"  democratic  fly "  in  his  last  book !  Yet  he  belongs  to 
the  working-class,  if  ever  man  did.  Appleton  is  well 
and  thriving.  He  has  to-day  taken  all  my  girls  and  boys 
in  the  "Alice"  to  the  yacht-races  at  Swampscott.  We 
are  not  without  our  amusements  also ! 


12th.  T.  went  in  his  yacht  to  dine  at  Shirley  Point. 
I  declined,  not  liking  raw  birds,  which  is  the  epicurean 
fashion  of  eating  them,  —  an  abominable  fashion,  it  seems 
to  me. 

15th.  Despatch  boxes  and  trunks  by  land,  and  come 
home  in  the  "  Alice,"  —  A  most  pleasant  sail  up  the  harbor, 
and  the  Craigie  House  charming. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  143 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  16,  1870. 

We  returned  yesterday  from  Nahant  all  in  good  con 
dition,  sailing  up  the  harbor  in  a  yacht  in  the  lovely 
September  day.  Entering  the  old  house  again  was  like, 
coming  back  from  Europe.  I  had  a  kind  of  dazed  feeling, 
a  kind  of  familiar,  unfamiliar  sense  of  place.  But  in  the 
evening  one  of  my  most  intimate  bores  came  in,  saying, 
"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  got  back,  but  thought  I 
would  come  up  and  see."  So  he  came  up  and  saw,  and  — 
I  knew  that  I  was  in  Cambridge. 

This  fact  was  still  further  confirmed  to-day ;  for  imme 
diately  after  breakfast  came  one  of  my  crazy  women,  and 
I  had  no  sooner  disposed  of  her  than  there  appeared 
another  bore,  who  occasionally  frequents  these  forests,  — 
huge,  Hyrcanian,  hopeless  !  There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
the  fact,  I  am  certainly  in  Cambridge. 

Come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  we  will  talk  over 
your  summer's  work  and  my  summer's  idleness,  and  pass 
some  Autumnal  Hours  a  good  deal  more  agreeable  than 
Drake's. 

While  I  was  writing  the  last  line  an  Irishwoman  called 
with  a  petition  to  the  Governor  to  pardon  her  son,  in 
prison  for  theft,  "  that  he  may  become  what  he  is  capable 
of  being,  —  an  honor  to  his  family  and  the  community." 


17th.  In  town  on  business.  See  at  Doll's  some  good 
pictures,  —  a  Farm  by  Daubigny,  and  Beech-trees  at  Font- 
ainebleau  by  Diaz. 

18th.  No  news  but  war  news.  The  horrible  war  in 
France  going  on.  The  Prussians  closing  in  on  Paris. 

21st.  Greene  arrives,  looking  well  after  his  summer 
work.  He  has  finished  the  Biography  of  General  Greene, 
and  is  now  free. 


144  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

25th.  A  young  mail  from  Horton,  the  Grand  Prd  of 
Acadie,  comes  to  see  me.  He  is  a  printer,  and  is  going 
back  to  his  province  to  be  editor  of  "  Pancurarnata,"  — 
whatever  that  may  mean,  —  a  weekly  newspaper. 

28th.  Greene  finishes  reading  to  me  his  Biography  [of 
General  Greene],  which  is  more  than  a  biography,  —  a 
noble  historical  work. 

30th.  Heard  the  introductory  lecture  of  Professor 
Sophocles  on  "Pagan  Views  of  the  Christians."  In  the 
College  yard  met  Dr.  Hoppin,  with  the  Eev.  Edward 
Henry  Bickersteth  and  his  son,  of  Pembroke  College, 
Cambridge,  England.  Brought  them  home  to  lunch. 

October  3.  Hear  Lowell's  introductory  on  Old  French 
Poets,  and  William  Everett's  on  Virgil. 

6th.  Laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  Memorial  Hall.1 
Dine  with  Lowell,  to  meet  Mr.  Tom  Hughes,  of  Rugby 
memory. 

To  II.  C.  Liik&ns. 

October  6,  1870. 

I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  long  delay  in  answering 
yours  of  August  4th,  and  thanking  you  for  the  handsome 
volume  that  came  with  it.2  My  excuse  is  that  I  was 
absent  from  Cambridge  when  the  parcel  came,  and  did 
not  return  until  a  few  days  ago. 

I  wish  I  could  sympathize  more  fully  than  I  do  with 
this  kind  of  writing,  and  consequently  enjoy  it  more ;  but 
I  confess  that  I  have  rather  a  dislike  to  it.  A  parody  or 
travesty  of  a  poem  is  apt  to  throw  an  air  of  ridicule  about 
the  original,  though  made  with  no  such  intention,  and 
on  that  account  they  are  unpleasant  to  me,  however  well 

1  A  Memorial  to  the  students  who  had  died  in  the  War  for  the 
Union.     Under  the  same  roof  are  the  academic  theatre  and  the 
dining-hall. 

2  Containing  a  travesty  of  Burger's  Lenore. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  145 

they  may  be  done.  In  fact,  the  better  they  are  done,  the 
worse  they  are  in  their  effects ;  for  one  cannot  get  rid  of 
them,  but  ever  after  sees  them  making  faces  behind  the 
original. 

Excuse  this  dissertation,  and  accept  my  thanks  all  the 
same. 

8th.  Thomas's  concert.  Miss  Anna  Mehlig  plays  beau 
tifully  on  the  pianoforte.  Zerdahelyi  introduces  me  to 
her. 

llth.  In  the  evening  go  to  town  to  hear  Mr.  Hughes 
in  the  Music  Hall,  —  "  John  to  Jonathan  ; "  a  very  good, 
straightforward  description  of  England's  position  during 
our  Civil  War,  from  the  English  point  of  view.  After  the 
lecture,  a  supper  at  Fields's. 

13th.  At  luncheon  Mr.  W.,  a  London  barrister,  and 
his  son  from  Oxford;  also  Mr.  Hughes.  Took  them  to 
see  the  College  Library ;  then  to  Everett's  lecture  on  Vir 
gil,  —  a  capital  lecture  on  the  various  editions ;  and 
brought  them  home  to  dine. 

14th.  Dined  at  the  Somerset  Club  to  meet  Mr.  Mun- 
della,  Member  of  Parliament. 

18th.  Eeading  a  Swedish  novel,  Den  Edtte,  by  Marie 
Schwartz.  Very  clever,  with  all  the  minuteness  of  detail 
which  the  Northern  novelists  delight  in. 

25th.  Went  to  Plymouth  with  Judge  Eussel,  Fields, 
and  Greene.  Saw  the  Plymouth  Rock,  and  drew  the 
sword  of  Miles  Standish,  and  read  the  old  Piecords.  Then 
drove  through  the  Plymouth  woods  of  oak  to  Billington 
Sea,  —  a  beautiful  drive,  and  along  the  valley  by  the  brook. 
Plymouth  is  a  charming  town,  with  over  two  hundred 
little  lakes  in  it.  From  the  Burial  Hill  is  a  charming 
view, — westward  across  a  rolling  country  red  with  oak- 
leaves,  and  eastward  over  the  harbor,  the  sandy  head 
lands,  and  the  sea.  On  our  way  back  we  had  all  kinds 

10 


146  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

of  adventures,  being  detained  by  a  schooner  that  stuck  in 
the  drawbridge  at  Neponset  and  blocked  all  passage.  We 
had  a  long  foot-tramp  over  unknown  roads  in  the  night, 
and  did  not  reach  home  till  eleven. 

November  4.  In  the  evening  at  a  political  caucus ;  the 
only  one  I  ever  attended,  I  believe.  I  did  not  like  it. 

9th.  Lunched  with  Fields  to  meet  the  beautiful  Nils- 
son,  who  is  as  charming  in  her  manners  as  in  her  voice. 
Another  "Swedish  nightingale,"  Jenny  Lind  being  the 
first. 

10th.  Professor  Washb  urn's  funeral  at  the  Shepard 
Church,  with  three  clergymen  of  three  different  sects 
officiating,  —  a  Unitarian,  a  Congregationalist,  and  a 
Baptist. 

13th.  Went  to  Mount  Auburn  and  found  it  desolated 
and  ruined;  trees  cut  down,  irregularities  levelled,  and 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  granite,  granite,  granite.  It  is 
shocking!  Sat  an  hour  with  Lowell.  We  talked  over 
the  proposed  widening  of  Brattle  Street,  which  will  also 
be  the  destruction  of  a  number  of  trees. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

November  14,  1870. 

These  are  happy  days  at  Argyll  Lodge  and  at  Inverary ; 
and  well  they  may  be,  for  the  Princess  is  a  lovely  woman 
in  her  own  right,  and  quite  apart  from  her  royal  birth. 

Where  are  you  now  ?  In  what  remote  and  comfortless 
"best  chamber"  are  you  this  moment  undergoing  your 
lecturer's  purgatory  ? J 

Miss  Nilsson  is  now  stirring  the  hearts  of  the  Bos- 
tonians.  She  is  a  charming  person,  as  well  as  a  beautiful 
singer,  —  a  true  daughter  of  the  North.  She  dines  with 
me  on  Thursday,  and  I  wish  you  could  be  with  us.  Far- 

1  Mr.  Sumner  was  on  a  "  lecturing  tour  "  through  the  "West. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  147 

ther  than  this,  I  have  no  news  to  send  you.     So  good 
night,  and  God  bless  you ! 


17th.  Miss  Nilsson  dined  with  us.  She  is  charming ; 
sunny,  fresh,  and  beautiful,  with  the  beauty  of  the  North. 
I  like  herself  even  better  than  her  singing,  delightful  as 
that  is. 

29th.  [Mr.  W.  Everett's]  lecture  on  Virgil ;  excellent. 
In  the  evening  I  tried  to  render  the  First  Eclogue  into 
English  hexameters,  but  did  not  write  it  down. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  29,  1870. 

I  have  this  morning  received  from  the  author  a  poem, 
in  twenty-eight  cantos,  on  an  Indian  subject,  filling  an 
octavo  volume  of  446  pages.  It  begins  :  — 

"  My  gentle  Muse  !    Awake  and  sing 

Of  wigwam,  tomahawk,  and  quiver  ; " 
and  ends  :  — 

"  We  love  thee,  happy  home,  we  love  thee  still, 
And  loud  respond  again  to  Whippoorwill." 

The  best  lines  I  have  found  in  it  are  these :  — 

"  Such  were  the  solemn  rites  the  throng  displayed, 
And  peaceful  slept  the  pious  Vareau's  shade,  "  — 

which  prove  that  the  author  has  read  the  last  lines  of 
Pope's  Iliad,  if  nothing  more. 

I  enclose  a  cheque,  and  wish  you  joy  of  your  windmill.1 
Of  the  Sumner  testimonial  I  know  nothing,  never  having 
heard  of  it  before,  —  unless  it  be  the  fund  raised  to  defray 
the  expense  of  publishing  his  Works,  which  I  supposed  to 
be  a  secret. 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  piirchased  for  his  friend  a  windmill,  which  was 
moved  and  attached  as  a  library  tower  to  his  house  in  East  Greenwich, 
giving  it  the  name  of  Windmill  Cottage. 


148  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1870. 

To  G.  W.  Curtis. 

December  10,  1870. 

I  am  delighted  that  you  can  come  to  me  on  the  20th. 
Come  to  dinner  at  five  o'clock,  and  stay  all  night  if  you 
can.  Such  is  the  programme,  not  to  be  changed  except  by 
dire  necessity ! 

The  moon  is  still  shining.  I  looked  out  of  the  window 
just  now,  and  there  it  was,  making  my  neighbor's  house 
beautiful,  — which  is  more  than  the  architect  did.  I  begin 
to  think  that  the  moon  never  sets  in  Cambridge. 

Your  lecture  leaves  behind  pleasant  reverberations. 
Mr.  Hough  ton  (who  shall  be  mayor  hereafter,  though  we 
did  not  succeed  in  getting  him  into  the  gilded  coach  this 
year)  was  here  this  morning,  and  was  loud  in  its  praises. 
But  what  I  value  most  was  the  exclamation  of  the  old 
lady  in  coming  out :  "  Oh,  dear !  what  a  splendid  lec 
ture  ! "  Like  Madelon  in  the  Precieuses  Ridicules,  "  Je 
trouve  ce  oh  !  oh  !  admirable.  J'aimerais  mieux  avoir  fait 
ce  oh !  oh  !  qu'un  poeme  dpique." 


December  14.  Dined  with  Fields  to  meet  Bayard  Taylor, 
in  honor  of  the  publication  of  his  translation  of  Faust. 
The  guests  were  Lowell,  Dana,  Howells,  Holmes,  Aldrich, 
and  Osgood. 

19th.  In  town.  Went  to  a  meeting  of  the Com 
pany,  which  is  utterly  ruined,  and  my  loss  several  thousand 
dollars ;  then  to  a  Beethoven  concert,  which  was  beauti 
ful,  particularly  the  overture  to  Egmont.  In  the  evening 
numerous  callers.  Notwithstanding  all  these  interrup 
tions  I  contrived  to  write  a  part  of  '  Herod's  Banquet ' 
[for  the  Divine  Tragedy]. 

20th.  Finished '  Herod's  Banquet.'  Gave  a  little  dinner 
to  Curtis. 


1870.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  149 

22d.  The  cares  and  vexations  of  daily  life,  letters,  and 
manifold  interruptions,  have  driven  away  my  poetic  mood, 
of  which  I  was  making  such  diligent  use  and  hoping  so 
much. 

23d.  A  letter  from  Collector  Eussel,  in  which  occurs 
this  appalling  sentence :  "  Remembering  your  interest  in 
the  stray  volume  of  Lamartine  which  was  imported  as 
paper  stock,  I  write  to  say  that  Mr.  B.,  of  Washington 
Street,  has  three  hundred  tons  of  Lamartine's  works  now 
on  their  way  to  this  port." 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

Christmas,  1870. 

I  wish  you  "a  Merry  Christmas  ! "  As  I  write  the  word 
"  merry,"  the  two  aruspices  look  at  each  other,  not  having 
been  merry  for  some  time  past ! 

Well,  then,  a  Happy  Christmas,  or  a  Tolerable  Christ 
mas,  or  any  unobjectionable  adjective  you  may  prefer. 

What  shameful  assaults  your  colleagues  are  making 
upon  you  in  the  Senate,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  garbled 
newspaper  accounts.  I  need  not  say  to  you,  "  Stand  firm," 
because  you  cannot  stand  in  any  other  way.  Non  ra- 
gionam  di  lor. 

Sam  Ward  is  to  dine  with  me  on  Friday. 

I  need  not  say  that  this  is  not  a  letter,  only  a  saluta 
tion.  I  am  so  driven  by  angels  and  demons,  —  by  books, 
bores,  and  beggars,  —  that  I  can  never  achieve  anything 
that  shall  rise  to  the  dignity  of  a  letter. 


31st.  The  year  ends  with  a  Club  dinner.1  Agassiz  is 
not  well  enough  to  be  there.  But  Emerson  and  Holmes 
of  the  older  set  were  ;  and  so  I  was  not  quite  alone. 

1  The  "  Saturday  Club,"  so  often  alluded  to.  It  met  on  the  last 
Saturday  of  each  month  at  Parker's,  in  School  Street. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JOURNAL  AND   LETTERS. 
1871. 

January  6.  The  subject  of  the  Divine  Tragedy  has 
taken  entire  possession  of  me,  so  that  I  can  think  of 
nothing  else.  All  day  pondering  upon  and  arranging  it.1 

7th.  I  find  all  hospitalities  and  social  gatherings  just 
now  great  interruptions.  But  perhaps  it  is  for  the  best 
[that  I  have  them].  I  should  work  too  hard,  and  perhaps 
not  so  well. 

8th.  During  the  last  week  I  have  written  [five  scenes 
in  the  Tragedy]. 

10th.  Cold,  hard,  and  steel-bright.  I  can  hardly  hold 
a  pen  to  write.  Thermometer  here  in  my  study  only  58° 
with  a  fire.  And  I  have  so  many  letters  to  answer ! 

llth.  In  town  at  a  meeting  of  stockholders  of  a  coal 
mine  company  that  has  come  to  nought  through  the  fraud 
or  mismanagement  of  the  directors.  A  poor  widow  was 
weeping,  and  saying  that  her  son  was  dying,  and  all  her 
property  was  in  this  mine.  It  was  a  sad  sight.  "  And 
there  is  the  man  sitting  in  that  corner  who  has  defrauded 
you,"  said  a  free-spoken  stockholder.  In  the  afternoon 
went  to  a  concert  and  heard  Miss  Mehlig. 

13th.  Wrote  '  Gamaliel  the  Scribe '  and  part  of  the 
'  Porch  of  Solomon.'  [After  this,  each  day  records  the 
writing  of  a  scene,  often  two,  of  the  Tragedy.] 

1  The  Divine  Tragedy,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  the  Gospel 
Story,  which  was  to  form  the  first  part  of  the  Trilogy,  Christus. 


187L]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  151 

17th.  Agassiz  comes.  It  is  very  sad  to  see  the  strong 
man  weakened.  He  said,  "  I  cannot  work,"  and  put  his 
face  in  his  hands  and  wept.  I  comforted  him,  as  well  as 
I  could,  with  the  thought  that  at  sixty  we  must  work 
more  slowly  and  more  calmly ;  that  old  age  is  better  than 
youth  for  system  and  supervision,  though  not  for  swift 
execution  of  details. 

25th.  A  continued  series  of  interruptions,  from  break 
fast  till  dinner.  I  could  not  get  half  an  hour  to  myself 
all  day  long.  Oh,  for  a  good  snow-storm  to  block  the 
door! 

27th.  Wrote  'The  Three  Crosses'  and  'The  Two 
Maries.'  And  now  the  Divine  Tragedy  is  finished,  in 
its  first  shape,  and  needs  only  revision,  and  perhaps 
amplification,  here  and  there. 

30th.  The  weather  moderates.  G goes  to  Biver- 

side,  and  comes  back  saying  that  he  "  feels  as  weak 
as  a  rat."  Why  do  we  say  "  weak  as  a  rat  ? "  That  little 
animal  seems  to  me  uncommonly  strong,  when  I  hear  him 
at  night  trundling  great  weights  between  the  walls. 

From  Samuel  Ward. 

WASHINGTON,  January  31,  1871. 

Ml  QUERIDO  DUENO,  —  Your  charming  letter  half 
consoled  me  for  my  great  disappointment  at  missing 
your  genial  hospitality  and  the  wedding.  I  unfortu 
nately  am  a  brick  —  a  small  one  —  in  a  pile,  and  I  could 
not  be  pulled  out,  at  the  time  in  question,  without  dis 
turbing  the  equilibrium  of  other  and  more  important  in 
cumbents.  The  idea  was  to  bring  together  my  friend 
General  Schenck  and  my  friend  Mr.  Evarts,  who,  having 
been  sent  to  England  twice  by  Mr.  Lincoln,  at  a  great 
professional  sacrifice,  about  the  "  Alabama  "  and  British 
and  French  neutrality,  was  in  a  condition  to  furnish  the 


152  LETTERS.  [1871. 

General  with  points  and  details  of  value  to  his  mission. 
...  I  thus  did  good  service,  at  a  sacrifice  of  my  own 
enjoyment,  in  a  matter  wherein  I  had  no  other  than  a 
friendly  and  patriotic  interest.  This  little  incident  is  a 
fair  illustration  of  my  daily  life.  So  many  of  my  years 
have  been  wasted  in  misfortunes  and  uncorigenialities  that 
the  only  stimulus  that  keeps  me  up  to  the  work  is  con 
tracting  no  end  of  benevolent  obligations  and  endeavoring 
to  fulfil  them. 

I  completed  last  Friday  my  fifty-seventh  birthday, 
—  ever  memorable  to  me  as  the  future  anniversary  of 
the  capitulation  of  Paris.  Poor  Beranger  died  before  the 
evil  day  which  gave  such  awful  contradiction  to  his 
patriotic  songs.  As  for  J.  J.,  he  has  the  melancholy  com 
fort  of  the  annihilation  of  a  dynasty  he  detested.  The 
days  of  "  rnimae,  balatrones,  et  hoc  genus  omne  "  are  num 
bered.  Tigellius  is  no  more  emperor.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  this  fearful  war-symphony  has  saddened  the  last 
six  months  of  my  life.  The  dead-march  in  Beethoven's 
Heroic  Symphony  has  pervaded  my  ears  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  cheerful  melodies.  Baron  Rumohr,  in  his  charming 
Cookery-book,  says  that  all  the  great  wars  in  the  world 
have  been  between  the  butter  countries  and  the  oil  countries, 
and  have  resulted  in  the  triumph  of  the  former.  So  in  the 
recent  disasters  of  France  we  find  History  again  repeating 
herself.  Does  it  not  remind  you  of  Jean  Paul's  phrase  : 
"  Eternity  sat  upon  chaos  and  gnawed  it  and  spat  it  out 
again  "  ?  The  parallel  holds  good  if  you  let  Bismarck,  as 
the  Eternity  of  Despotism,  and  France,  as  the  Chaos  of 
Revolutions,  personify  Jean  Paul's  ideas. 

I  was  dreaming  the  other  night  of  your  lovely  '  Oliver 
Basselin,'  which  I  consider  inimitable.  Do  you  remem 
ber  my  sending  it  to  Morpeth  in  the  green  cover  of  Put 
nam's  Magazine  in  1855,  and  his  letter  of  thanks  which 
you  gave  to  Mrs.  R.  at  Newport  ?  I  accept  the  prophet's 


187L]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  153 

chamber  in  the  spring,  and  enclose  a  lovely  poem  I  found 
in  the  Post. 

Affectionately  thine, 

S.  W. 

February  2.  Read  some  of  Browning's  Ring  and  Book. 
He  is  very  powerful,  but  very  obscure. 

3d.  Begin  '  Fra  Joachim,'  which  is  to  be  an  interlude 
between  parts  i.  and  ii.  of  Christus. 

4th.  Read  and  pondered  on  many  things.  Continued 
'  Era  Joachim.' 

8th.  Began  the  second  interlude,  '  Luther  in  the  Wart- 
burg,'  to  come  after  the  Golden  Legend. 

9th.  Read  in  Luther's  Life,  by  Michelet,  and  his  Table- 
Talk.  Translated  Eiri  feste  Burg.  Mr.  P.,  of  Philadelphia, 
a  very  cultivated  and  agreeable  young  man,  at  dinner. 

12th.  Began  '  St.  John,'  to  serve  as  prologue  to  the 
third  part  of  Christus. 

To  Miss  E.  C . 


[With  some  autographs  for  a  Fair.] 

February  15,  1871. 

I  send  you  half  a  dozen  autographs,  and  would  send  you 
more  if  I  were  not  ashamed.  But  I  am  ashamed.  And 
so  will  you  be,  when  you  find  you  have  more  than  are 
wanted. 

But  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend,  —  particularly  a  pen.  So 
if  you  find  more  than  half  a  dozen  lunatics  who  are  will 
ing  to  take  this  paper  currency,  be  kind  enough  to  let  me 
know  it. 

February  20. 

How  charming  it  is  to  be  able  to  help  you  in  so  good 
a  cause  by  using  my  pen  for  a  sword,  and  shedding  the 
blue  blood  of  my  ink,  instead  of  my  own ! 


154  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

I  send  you  twelve  more  mercenaries  to  serve  in  the 
ranks,  and  am  always,  with  best  wishes,  yours. 


17th.  Field  called  in  the  afternoon.  We  went  to  hear 
a  lecture  by  Emerson  in  Boylston  Hall.  It  was  on  Unity, 
as  applied  to  the  outer  and  the  inner  world,  the  physi 
cal  and  intellectual;  the  same  universal  law  governing 
both. 

18th.  A  driving  storm  from  the  South.  Key-holes 
whistling  and  chimneys  roaring.  Amuse  myself  with 
White's  Selborne. 

20th.  Head  Lowell's  new  book,  and  heard  him  lecture 
on  '  Eeynard  the  Fox.'  In  the  afternoon  read  over  some 
passages  in  the  poem,  and  also  Chaucer's  '  Nonne's  Priest's 
Tale/  which  is  taken  from  Eeynard  and  idealized. 

24th.  Head  Shelley's '  Epipsichidion.'  In  the  afternoon 
Lowell  came  and  sat  an  hour,  and  then  we  walked  in  the 
mud  another  hour. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

February  24,  1871. 

Your  letter  has  just  come,  and  I  am  delighted  beyond 
measure  at  having  a  word  from  you,  showing  the  danger 
to  be  past.  I  am  glad,  too,  that  my  medicine  agrees 
with  you,  and  I  forthwith  prescribe  again. 

Prescription  :  Come  on  to  Cambridge  at  once,  and  take 
possession  of  the  southwest  chamber,  looking  over  the 
meadows  and  at  the  sunset.  There  you  shall  have  unin 
terrupted  quiet,  and  Dr.  Brown-Sequard  within  reasonable 
distance.  If  you  stay  in  Washington  you  cannot  have 
quiet,  you  know  you  cannot.  So  leave  the  plough  in  the 
furrow  and  come. 

Let  Santo  Domingo  go,  as  any  ordinary  echo  would  tell 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  155 

you  if  you  asked  it.1    Above  all  things,  do  not  think  of 
making  another  speech  at  present. 

I  wish  you  were  here  now,  and  going  down  with  me  to 
hear  Emerson  lecture  on  the  Natural  History  of  the  Intel 
lect.2  These  lectures  would  be  a  cordial  to  you  ;  and  there 
are  others  which  would  interest  you. 


25th.  Saturday  Club  dinner.  Agassiz  reappeared, 
after  an  absence  of  more  than  a  year.  We  had  among 
our  guests  Mr.  Bret  Harte,  from  California,  who  has  made 
his  mark  in  literature  by  tales  and  poems. 

27th.  My  sixty-fourth  birthday.  I  hoped  no  one 
would  remember  it;  but  a  great  many  people  did,  and 
sent  me  flowers,  etc. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

February  28,  1871. 

A  benediction  on  the  Benedictines ! 

I  knew  they  were  great  lovers  of  literature,  but  I  did 
not  know  that  they  were  also  distillers  of  herbs  and 
manufacturers  of  exquisite  liqueurs  ! 

Your  charming  remembrance  of  me  on  my  birthday,  — 
the  jolly,  round,  and  happy  little  monk  bedded  in  flowers, 
came  safely  in  his  wooden  cradle.  A  thousand  and  a 
thousand  thanks ! 

I  am  ashamed  to  send  back  the  basket,  or  bucket,  empty ; 
but  I  look  round  in  vain  for  something  to  fill  it.  What 
shall  I  do  ? 

After  all,  the  greatest  grace  of  a  gift,  perhaps,  is  that  it 
anticipates  and  admits  of  no  return.  I  therefore  accept 

1  Mr.  Sumner  was  throwing  himself  with  ardor  against  the  Presi 
dent's  project  of  annexing  Santo  Domingo. 

2  Mr.  Emerson  was  giving  a  course  at  the  University  under  this 
title. 


156  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

yours,  pure  and  simple  ;  and  on  the  whole  am  glad  that  I 
have  nothing  to  send  back  in  the  basket. 

Still,  empty  is  a  horrid  word.  I  try  in  vain  to  comfort 
myself.  I  make  believe  it  is  the  best  thing  to  do,  and  do 
it,  knowing  all  the  while  that  it  is  not  the  best  thing. 


March  1.  Bret  Harte  dined  with  me ;  the  other  guests 
Lowell,  Howells,  Henry  James ;  S.  and  A. 

19th.  My  brother  Alexander  came  in  the  morning ;  and 
in  the  afternoon  Professor  Horsford  and  Ole  Bull,  who  is 
staying  with  him.  Dined  at  Horsford's,  and  after  dinner 
Ole  Bull  played  to  us  for  an  hour  or  two. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

March  19,  1871. 

CARD  SIGNOR  CAMPI,  —  I  beg  you  not  to  eat  much 
dinner  to-morrow,  because  I  propose  to  give  you  a  little 
supper  with  my  brother  Alexander,  commander  of  the 
"Meredith,"  TJ.  S.  Coast  Survey. 

I  dined  this  evening  with  Professor  Horsford,  to  meet 
your  friend  Ole  Bull.  After  dinner  he  played  divinely  on 
the  violin,  and  told  some  amusing  stories,  —  for  which  I 
promised  to  pardon  him,  on  condition  of  his  dining  with 
me  when  he  comes  back  to  Boston. 

He  also  described  to  me  his  improvement  of  the  piano 
forte.  I  thought  it  was  the  Marquis  of  Worcester  reading 
from  his  Century  of  Inventions. 

"What  a  child  of  Nature,  and  how  very  agreeable  he  is  ! 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

March  22,  1871. 

I  have  just  received  three  volumes  of  the  new  edition  of 
your  Works,  beautifully  printed  and  beautifully  bound;  and 


187L]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  157 

Mr.  Butler  says  that  my  functions  as  subscriber  are  no 
longer  to  be  exercised,  but  that  I  am  to  look  upon  these 
volumes  and  the  rest  as  a  gift  from  you. 

I  was  just  taking  up  my  pen  to  thank  you  for  this 
munificence,  when  I  took  up  the  first  volume  and  began 
to  read  at  the  beginning, "  The  True  Grandeur  of  Nations." 
How  it  took  me  back  to  the  days  of  youth  !  How  it 
recalled  the  whole  scene,  —  the  crowd,  the  hot  summer 
day,  the  dismay  of  the  military  men  in  their  uniforms, 
the  delight  and  applause  of  the  audience  ! 

Then  I  went  on  with  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  oration  and 
the  Prison  Discipline  discussion,  —  each  bringing  up  very 
vividly  a  scene  of  the  past.  To-night  I  have  been  liv 
ing  your  life  over  again,  and  mine  in  part. 

I  have  also  looked  over  the  Contents  of  the  other  vol 
umes,  and  remembering  that  seven  more  are  to  come,  I  am 
amazed  and  delighted. 

This  is  a  noble  monument  of  a  noble  life  !  God  bless 
you  !  No  statesman  in  any  age  or  country  has  a  better 
or  a  nobler. 


23d.  Harvard  Association  Concert.  Mostly  Beethoven's 
music,  upon  which  the  grand  bronze  statue  of  the  great 
master,  by  Crawford,  looked  down  well  pleased. 


To  Miss  P . 

March  30,  1871. 

I  have  had  the  great  pleasure  of  receiving  the  silver 
spoon  made  by  Paul  Revere  which  you  have  been  so  kind 
and  generous  as  to  send  me  by  the  hand  of  our  highly 
esteemed  friend  Miss  M.  C.  I  beg  you  to  accept  my 
most  cordial  thanks.  It  is  a  gift  which  I  shall  highly 
prize  and  cherish. 


158  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

When  I  received  it,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  christened 
over  again,  and  had  an  "  apostle  spoon "  sent  me  as  a 
present.  Paul  Eevere  was  an  apostle  of  liberty,  if  not  of 
religion. 

In  a  narrow  street  in  Florence  is  still  to  be  seen  the 
humble  shop  in  which  Benvenuto  Cellini  worked.  But 
alas !  in  Boston  there  is  no  longer  any  trace  of  the  work 
shop  of  Paul  Eevere.  All  the  more  shall  I  value  this 
little  relic  of  him. 


April  3.  Went  to  see  J.  O.,  whose  place  by  the  river 
has  been  sold.  They  are  stripping  it  of  its  fruit  and  forest 
trees.  In  the  afternoon  Emerson's  lecture  on  the  Will. 
He  did  not  once  quote  Jonathan  Edwards,  whose  work  I 
never  read,  but  mean  now  to  read  it. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  3,  1871. 

I  send  you  one  or  two  advertisements  of  a  certain  book 
which  may  interest  you.  Keep  the  long  one,  as  it  may  be 
interesting  hereafter  to  see  what  books  came  out  with 
yours,  and  what  their  fortunes  were.  I  wish  I  had  the 
original  advertisement  of  all  my  books  ;  I  have  not  one. 

The  weather  to-day  has  been  like  midsummer ;  the  ther 
mometer  in  my  study  has  stood  at  eighty.  I  have  kept 
indoors  all  day,  and  have  written  a  new  scene  that  occurred 
to  me  for  the  Divine  Tragedy.  The  danger  is  that  I  shall 
make  it  too  long. 

The  girls  have  a  musical  party  to-night.  The  piano 
forte  is  going  on  one  side  of  me,  and  the  venerable,  his 
toric  door-knocker  on  the  other.  Some  bashful  juvenile 
is  even  now  timidly  applying  his  hand  to  it.  A  confused 
murmur  of  voices  conies  from  the  library ;  and  I  sit  here 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  159 

like  a  sphinx  who  has  had  a  riddle  proposed  to  her,  instead 
of  proposing  one  to  other  people. 


The  door  again ! 


5th.  Transplanted  from  Owen's  an  elm-tree,  a  seedling 
from  the  Washington  elm,  and  placed  it  between  me  and 
my  neighbor  Hastings,  on  the  east  side  of  the  house. 

10th.  Meditating  a  third  play,  to  complete  the  third 
part  of  Christus.  The  scene  to  be  among  the  Moravians 
at  Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania. 

llth.  Happy  to-day  in  the  new  poetic  idea  which  be 
gins  to  germinate  and  develop  itself  in  my  mind.  I  hope 
I  shall  be  able  to  harmonize  in  it  the  discord  of  the  New 
England  Tragedies,  and  thus  give  a  not  unfitting  close  to 
the  work.1 

13th.  Wrote  '  At  Bethany,'  for  the  Divine  Tragedy,  — 
a  very  short  scene;  but  it  would  be  no  better  for  being 
longer. 

14th.  A  call  from  Mrs.  Julia  Howe  and  her  brother, 
Sam  Ward.  He  looks  like  a  prime  minister  or  European 
diplomat.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  him. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

April  25, 1871. 

We  accept,  Greene  and  myself,  your  kind  invitation  to 
dinner  on  Thursday,  and  will  present  ourselves  in  proper 
uniform  at  six  o'clock. 

Do  not  give  yourself  any  further  trouble  about  the 
notices  of  Greene's  book.  Several  papers  have  been  sent 
by  the  publishers.  Already  I  notice  something  like  pea 
cock's  feathers  growing  upon  my  friend,  and  have  to 
spread  my  own  very  wide  to  show  that  I  still  exist  and 

1  This  was  never  written. 


1GO  JOURNALS  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

am  still  respectable,  though  tarnished.  It  is  a  very 
comical  sight  to  see  two  authors  shut  up  in  one  room 
together ! 

However,  we  will  be  serious  on  Thursday. 


30th.  A  gap  in  my  Journal.  I  have  been  busy  helping 
Greene  with  the  Index  to  his  biography  of  his  grandfather. 

May  1.  C.  leaves  us  for  his  long  journey  to  San  Fran 
cisco,  Japan,  and  China.  In  the  afternoon  heard  Dr. 
Hedge's  lecture  on  Spinoza. 

5th.  Eead  Liza,  by  Tourgenief,  the  Russian  novelist, 
translated  by  Ralston,  of  the  British  Museum.  Very  in 
teresting,  and  the  descriptions  of  Nature  fresh  and  sweet. 
Dine  with  Mrs.  Howe. 

12th.  A  call  from  Dana,  bringing  Lord  Tenterden  and 
Professor  Bernard,  of  "  Her  Majesty's  High  Commission  " 
on  the  "  Alabama  "  claims. 

15th.  Agassiz  called,  and  talked  about  his  expedition 
round  the  Cape  to  California,  upon  which  he  starts  this 
summer. 

24th.  Finished  a  new  Tale  for  the  second  day  of  the 
Wayside  Inn,  —  a  New  England  story, '  Lady  Wentworth.' 

31st.  Read  Johnson's  Life  of  Dryden,  and  Dryden's 
'Hind  and  Panther.'  Not  much  edified  by  either.  A 
theological  discussion  in  verse  is  not  redeemed  by  the 
splendor  of  single  lines.  The  'Religio  Laici'  is  far  su 
perior.  But  in  reading  Dryden  one  always  feels  that  he 
is  breathing  a  strong,  deep-sea  atmosphere. 

June  1.  Went  with  Fields  to  Portsmouth  to  see  old 
houses.  Mr.  Haven  received  us  at  the  station  and  enter 
tained  us  most  hospitably.  First,  lunch ;  then  drive  to 
Little  Harbor  to  see  the  Wentworth  house,  —  a  quaint, 
irregular  pile  of  buildings  hidden  from  the  road  by  ris 
ing  ground,  though  close  upon  it,  with  lilac  hedges,  and 


187L]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  161 

looking  seaward;  not  unlike  my  description  of  it.1  We 
went  all  over  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  and  saw  the 
present  owner,  a  sprightly  old  lady  of  ninety,  and  her 
daughter.  Then  we  drove  to  Newcastle,  —  an  island 
reached  by  bridges  over  arms  of  the  sea, — and  went  to  Mr. 
Albee's  cottage.  He  was  away ;  but  we  saw  his  wife,  whom 
I  remember  as  Miss  R,  of  Boston,  a  young  Catholic,  full 
of  charitable  works.  Then  back  to  town  and  visited  the 
beautiful  Barrows  house,  the  "VVentworth  town  house,  and 
the  Warner  house.  Dined  with  Mr.  Haven  and  the  Uni 
tarian  clergyman  Mr.  De  Normandie,  who  had  been  the 
companion  of  our  drive.  Home  by  the  evening  train. 

3d.  Excessively  hot ;  nevertheless  drove  in  to  the 
opera  in  the  afternoon.  Gounod's  Faust;  Miss  Kellogg 
as  Margaret,  and  Castelmary  as  Mephisto. 

To  J,  T.  Fields. 

Three-fifths  of  twelve 

Are  $7.20. 
This  may  appear 
To  be  somewhat  dear  ; 

But  wherefore  went  he  ? 

The  Faust  of  Gounod 
Is  an  opera,  you  know, 
In  which  Castelmary 
Plays  the  Old  Harry,  — 

Therefore  spent  he 

His  $7.20. 
June  4,  1871. 

1  He  wrote  to  Mr.  Greene :  "  I  had  a  most  successful  day  with 
Fields  at  his  native  town,  and  saw  sundry  curious  old  houses,  — 
among  them  the  Wentworth  house,  which  I  was  anxious  to  see, 
having  already  described  it  in  a  poem.  I  found  it  necessary  to 
change  only  a  single  line,  —  which  was  lucky.  We  saw  also  some 
very  interesting  old  people,  with  the  grand  manners  of  other  days,  — 
always  so  attractive."  jl 


162  JOURNAL.  [1871. 

5th.  Read  Dryden's  Songs  and  Elegies.  He  is  pretty 
tame  sometimes ;  and  then  will  come  a  line  which  flashes 
across  the  page  like  a  train  of  powder. 

6th.  Walked  to  Eiverside  to  see  Mr.  Houghton  about 
Mr.  Kroeger's  Specimens  of  the  Minnesingers,  which  I 
want  him  to  publish.  A  cool  wind  blowing  over  the 
river  and  the  salt-marshes.  In  the  afternoon  Signer 
Corti,  the  Italian  minister,  calls  with  S.  Eliot  and  Signor 
Bragiotti. 

7th.  Sirocco  very  oppressive.  Began  the  poem  of 
'  Carmilhan.' 

10th.  Finished  'Carmilhan.'  Only  two  more  stories 
are  wanted  to  complete  the  Second  Day  of  the  Wayside 
Inn. 

12th.  Looking  for  the  theme  of  another  story.  Fix 
upon  the  '  Legend  Beautiful,'  and  begin  it. 

13th.  Went  with  A.  to  "Shark's  Mouth,"  H.'s  sea 
side  place  at  Manchester.  A  lovely  stone  house,  with 
lofty  terraces,  and  splendid  outlook  over  the  sea  and 
rocky  islands.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  more  beau 
tiful  seaside  place  in  New  England ;  it  is  all  one  could 
ask. 

17th.  Lowell,  Cranch,  and  Fields  dined  with  me. 
After  dinner  C.  sang  two  songs  with  great  effect. 

23d.  Class-day ;  and  a  very  delightful  day  for  the  col 
legians  and  the  young  ladies. 

25th.  Mr.  Haliburton,  of  Nova  Scotia,  dined  with  me, 
son  of  Judge  Haliburton.  He  is  much  interested  in  cer 
tain  abstruse  speculations  about  the  symbolism  of  the 
Cross. 

July  1.  A  day  of  affairs  preparatory  to  Nahant.  In 
the  afternoon  Mrs.  B.  called  for  flowers  to  make  button 
hole  bouquets  for  the  convicts  in  the  State  Prison.  Mr. 
Zerdahelyi  came  to  dinner,  and  played  in  the  evening 
some  beautiful  things  from  Chopin. 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  163 

3d.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stillman.  She  is 
like  Eossetti's  "Blessed  Dainosel."  There  is  something 
pre-Kaphaelite  about  her. 

6th.  Nahant.  The  low  wash  of  the  sea  very  soothing. 
Last  night  was  lovely,  —  a  tropical  night,  with  dreamy 
stars,  and  phosphorescent  waves  rolling  up  the  beach. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

NAHANT,  July  7,  1871. 

A  thousand  thanks  for  your  note  and  its  enclosure. 
There  goes  a  gleam  of  sunshine  into  a  dark  house,  which 
is  always  pleasant  to  think  of.  I  have  not  yet  got  the 
senator's  sunbeam  to  add  to  it,  but  as  soon  as  I  do,  both 
shall  go  shining  on  their  way. 

I  come  back  to  my  old  wish  and  intention  of  leaving 
the  [Atlantic]  Magazine  when  you  do.  This  is  the  wisest 
course,  as  I  could  easily  persuade  you,  if  I  had  you  alone 
here  by  the  seaside.  But  I  do  not  like  to  write  about  it, 
for  you  see  how  the  paper  blots  and  the  ink  spreads  with 
the  damp. 

I  am  curious  to  hear  of  the  effect  of  your  reading  at  the 
Island.  When  you  come  to  the  lines  about  the  Spring, 
read  as  follows :  — 

"  The  robin,  the  forerunner  of  the  Spring, 
The  blue-bird  with  his  jocund  carolling." 

The  robin  is  more  familiar,  and  belongs  more  to  New  Eng 
land  than  the  oriole,  and  must  take  his  place. 

I  hear  the  steamboat's  whistle  below.  I  wish  you  were 
coming  to  dinner ;  but  I  know  you  are  not. 


13th.  Ah,  these  melancholy  anniversaries !  [his  wed 
ding  day  and  his  wife's  funeral.]  I  was  awakened  this 
morning  about  sunrise  by  the  singing  of  a  bird  inside  my 


164  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

room.  I  looked  up  and  saw  it  perched  on  the  window- 
blind.  It  then  hopped  into  the  room,  —  a  little  yellow 
bird  with  brown  wings.  After  singing  awhile,  it  perched 
on  the  rounds  of  a  chair,  then  flew  out  of  the  other 
window. 

16th.  Dr. was  very  long  and  very  ardent  and 

very  Scotch.  The  doctrine  I  did  not  agree  with,  but  liked 
parts  of  the  sermon,  notwithstanding. 

18th.  Too  cold  to  sit  still,  too  hot  to  walk  in  the  sun. 
That  is  the  peculiar  character  of  Nahant.  T.  returned  in 
his  yacht  from  Portland  this  morning.  After  dinner  the 

S s  called.  They  are  here  for  an  hour  or  two  in  a 

beautiful  yacht,  —  the  "  Palmer,"  —  bound  for  the  coast  of 
Maine. 

To  Charles  Sumner. 

NAHANT,  July  19,  1871. 

Your  working  on  so  steadily  through  the  hot  weather 
fills  me  with  wonder  and  envy.  I  cannot  do  it  even  here 
at  the  seaside.  In  fact  I  find  that  being  by  the  sea  is  as 
bad  as  being  on  the  sea,  for  any  kind  of  intellectual  work. 
It  is  a  good  place  to  read  newspapers  and  Eeviews ;  and 
that  is  about  all.  This  year  I  brought  down  with  me 
Plutarch's  Morals,  —  a  charming  book  for  town  or  country. 
Here  I  cannot  take  the  slightest  interest  in  it.  It  seems 
prolix  and  ponderous. 

Come  and  see  if  the  briny  atmosphere  does  not  lay  a 
wet  cloth  on  your  brain  and  cool  it  down  to  the  average 
human  speed.  That  is  why  I  do  not  like  to  stay  here  so 
long.  But  in  summer  would  it  be  different  elsewhere  ? 
No ;  it  is  the  season,  not  the  place,  after  all. 

Cogswell  is  coming  to  us  on  Saturday  for  a  few  days. 
After  that,  this  whole  house  is  a  su  disposition  de  Vmd.1 

1  "  At  your  Grace's  disposal,"  the  customary  Spanish  courtesy. 


187L]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  165 

You  who  speak  all  modern  languages  "in  a  calm  and 
measured  tone,"  will  understand  the  Spanish.  But  I  do 
not  mean  the  words  in  the  Spanish  complimentary  sense, 
but  literally,  —  as  you  well  know. 


20th.  Behold  the  virtuous  man,  who  answers  all  let 
ters  as  soon  as  they  are  received  !  If  I  can  only  keep  up 
this  habit  it  will  save  me  great  annoyance. 

22d.  Cogswell  comes  down  in  the  boat.  Dear  old 
man,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  him !  In  the  evening  I  call 
on  the  Rev.  Dr.  Potter,  of  Grace  Church,  New  York,  who 
is  to  preach  to-morrow.  He  comes  home  with  me  and 
sits  an  hour  in  pleasant  talk. 

To  J.  R.  Lowell. 

NAHANT,  July  25, 1871. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  such  a  story  of  poor ,  and 

will  to-day  send  my  contribution. 

I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  to  the  Club  on  Saturday, 
having,  in  forgetfulness  of  its  being  the  last  Saturday  [of 
the  month],  invited  a  gentleman  to  come  down  to  Nahant 
that  day.  Besides,  the  uncertainty  of  getting  back  here 
at  night  intimidates  me. 

Is  there  any  chance  of  your  coming  down  to  dine  with 
us  ?  Choose  your  own  day,  —  the  brightest  and  hottest 
you  can  find,  —  and  we  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  see  you. 
We  dine  at  five,  and  you  can  return  by  the  boat  at  quar 
ter  past  six.  On  Sunday  we  dine  at  two,  —  from  a  vague 
notion  that  somebody  wants  to  go  to  church  in  the  after 
noon.  Therefore  do  not  choose  Sunday,  if  you  please. 

Mr.  Cogswell  is  passing  a  few  days  with  us,  and  is  very 
pleasant  company;  otherwise  Nahant  is  unusually  dull 
this  year. 


166  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

27th.  Read  some  articles  in  the  Journal  of  Speculative 
Philosophy;  wrote  some  letters;  and  that  is  the  record 
of  the  day. 

28th.  Being  troubled  with  sleeplessness,  I  determined 
last  night  to  go  to  sleep  by  force  of  will.  It  succeeded 
perfectly.  A  thunder-storm  waked  me  in  the  night.  As 
soon  as  it  was  over,  I  was  asleep  again.  If  this  always 
succeeds,  I  shall  be  a  happy  man. 

29th.  Eead  Grinx's  Baby,  —  a  clever  book  on  pauperism 
in  England ;  very  tragic,  and  I  suppose  true. 

From,  H.  C.  Andersen. 

COPENHAGEN,  July,  1871. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  A  talented  young  Dane,  Mr.  W.,  is 
going  to  visit  America  for  the  first  time.  I  send  you, 
through  him,  my  kindest  regards.  He  will  be  happy  in 
making  your  acquaintance,  and  I  shall  be  so  by  hearing 
news  from  you  when  he  returns.  I  hope  that  you  have 
a  copy  of  my  Collected  Works,  and  that  you  will  have 
a  spare  moment  to  glance  at  them.  My  latest  story, 
Lijklce  Peer,  you  will  not  find  there ;  but  it  is  in  Scribner's 
Magazine. 

If  not  the  great  rolling  Ocean  was  between  us,  and  I 
was  not  sixty-seven  years  old,  then  I  should  arrive  in 
your  mighty  country  some  pleasant  summer  day.  As  it 
is,  I  can  only  send  a  letter  and  the  kind  regards  of  your 
friend  and  admirer, 

HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN. 


August  1.  A  splendid  sunset,  with  a  thunder-storm 
passing  over  Boston  seaward,  —  a  sight  of  surpassing 
beauty. 

2d.  M.  Auguste  Bartholdi,  French  sculptor,  calls  with 
a  letter  from  Agassiz.  A  pleasant,  lively,  intelligent  man, 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  167 

a  Eepublican  and  an  Alsatian.  He  has  a  plan  for  erect 
ing  a  bronze  Colossus  on  Bedloe's  Island,  in  New  York 
harbor,  —  a  statue  of  Liberty,  to  serve  at  night  as  a 
lighthouse.  It  is  a  grand  plan ;  I  hope  it  will  strike 
the  New  Yorkers. 

3d.  A  youth  in  England,  of  the  Swinburne-Eossetti 
school,  sends  ine  three  volumes  of  verse,  mostly  love- 
sonnets.  In  one  of  them  he  says  :  — 

"  We  see  no  longer  what  of  old  we  saw, 
Nor  is  the  vision  present  any  more." 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  August  3,  1871. 

Shall  I  lie  down  and  sleep,  on  this  sultry  summer  noon, 
or  sit  here  and  write  to  you  ?  The  question  is  answered 
as  soon  as  asked.  You  smile,  and  think  I  cannot  sleep 
when  I  will.  You  are  mistaken ;  I  can.  After  so  many 
sleepless  nights,  —  so  many  years  of  sleepless  nights,  —  I 
have  made  a  great  discovery,  and  to  me  of  infinite  value. 
I  can  put  myself  to  sleep  by  an  effort  of  the  will.  When 
I  go  to  bed  at  night,  I  will  myself  to  sleep  ;  and  the  next 
thing  I  am  conscious  of  is  that  it  is  morning,  and  the 
birds  are  singing.  Congratulate  me ! 

Sumner  has  not  yet  made  his  appearance,  though  I  look 
for  him  daily.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Lord  Stanhope, 
and  an  invitation,  couched  in  the  most  flattering  terms, 
to  preside  at  the  Royal  Literary  Fund  Society.  Shall  I 
go  ?  Ehyme  and  Eeason  answer,  "  No  ! " 

August  5. 

I  dreamed  of  you  last  night.  You  got  home  very  late, 
and  came  up  by  the  dumb-waiter  into  the  dining-room 
closet,  in  a  dress-coat  and  a  white  hat  very  much  crushed. 
You  said  you  had  been  out  to  drive  with  a  Spanish  lady. 
It  seemed  in  the  dream  all  very  natural ;  but  a  sudden 


168  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

rush  of  rain  on  the  roof  woke  me,  and  I  laughed  aloud  at 
the  absurdity  of  the  vision,  —  as  you  will  probably  do 
when  you  read  this  account  of  it. 

Allow  me  to  offer  you,  for  your  future  guidance,  Alder 
man  G 's  views  on  public  libraries  :  — 

"Alderman  G has  not  a  doubt  that  the  library  would  hold 

all  the  books  actually  required,  —  such  works  as  were  likely  to  be  in 
demand  by  the  reading  public,  and  would  do  any  good.  He  believed 
in  casting  off  a  great  deal  of  superfluous  matter  that  he  had  reason  to 
think  was  already  there.  The  works  of  nearly  every  writer  in  the 
world  were  fast  finding  their  way  into  the  library,  and  were  stored 
there  at  great  expense.  He  asked  if  there  were  not  a  hundred  thou 
sand  volumes  on  the  shelves  that  were  never  called  for." 

A  gentleman  who  has  been  trying  to  get  a  Lowell 
course  writes  to  me :  "  As  for  lectures  at  the  Lowell  next 
season,  there  has  been  such  an  overflow  of  applications 
that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  obtain  a  course.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  applicants  have  to  wait  three  or  four  years." 

No  Sumner  yet.  He  leaves  Washington  on  Monday 
the  7th,  but  stops  in  Philadelphia  and  New  York. 


4th.  Write,  declining  the  honor  of  presiding  at  the 
Literary  Fund  dinner.  I  cannot  cross  the  ocean  again  so 
soon. 

6th.  Mr.  McKenzie  preached  a  good  sermon  on  Eest,  — 
Christ  sitting  by  Jacob's  well,  being  weary. 

7th.  Eead  a  little  in  Michelet's  French  Revolution,  — 
a  pictorial  style,  the  style  of  romance  rather  than  history. 

8th.  Read,  in  Hedge's  Prose  Writers  of  Germany,  an 
essay  on  the  supposed  origin  of  Man  [by  Kant],  —  an  in 
teresting  interpretation  of  Genesis. 

12th.  A  man  with  a  divining-rod  points  out  a  place 
where  we  may  dig  a  well.  I  am  curious  to  see  if  we  shall 
find  water  there.  Sumner  arrives. 


1371.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  169 

14th.  Go  with  Sunnier  to  Mr.  James's  to  see  the  re 
gatta.  A  pretty  sight,  —  all  those  towering  white  sails  in 
the  distance ;  and  then  a  slow  and  scattered  flight,  as  of 
sea-birds,,  south  toward  Minot's  Ledge. 

15th.  Went  to  town  to  attend  the  meeting  of  the  His 
torical  Socitty  in  celebration  of  Walter  Scott's  birthday. 
Eemarks  by  Winthrop,  Emerson,  Hillard,  Quincy,  and 
Waterston,  and  letters  from  Holmes  and  Bryant. 

1 7th.  The  seLator  brings  a  perfect  avalanche  of  news 
papers  with  him  irom  all  quarters  of  the  Union;  and  I 
see  what  unwholesome  food  for  the  million  they  furnish. 

From  Louis  Agassiz. 

CAMBRIDGE,  August  18,  1871. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  You  are  so  lovable  that  I 
should  like  to  have  you  all  to  aiyself ;  and  yet  my  neces 
sities  are  such,  on  the  eve  of  a  Icng  journey,  that  I  hardly 
know  how  to  enjoy  what  is  actuary  offered  me.  Mrs.  A., 
too,  would  gladly  join  me  on  a  Jay's  visit  to  you  at 
Nahant.  I  had  hoped  to  accompany  her  this  morning 
when  she  went  to  see  her  mother,  ana.  had  intended  to 
call  upon  you  to  agree  for  a  day ;  but  ^.he  Museum  has 
kept  me  prisoner,  and  I  must  postpone  mj  visit  to  next 
week.  Meanwhile  believe  me 

Ever  truly  your  frien-^ 

L^  AGASSIZ. 


22d.  The  steam-tug  comes  for  us,  and  Sumnei,  Mr. 
James,  Ernest,  and  myself  go  to  meet  the  revenue-cutter 
in  the  harbor.  Find  on  board  the  Collector,  with  Agasdz 
and  a  young  Japanese  prince;  and  we  steam  away  foi 
Minot's  Ledge.  Dinner  (on  board)  ended,  we  find  our 
selves  at  the  base  of  the  lighthouse,  rising  sheer  out  of  the 
sea  like  a  huge  stone  cannon,  mouth  upward.  We  are 


170  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [18rl. 

hoisted  up  forty  feet  in  a  chair,  some  of  us ;  others  go  up 
by  an  iron  ladder,  —  all  but  the  young  Japanese,  wno  re 
fuses  to  go  up  at  all.  Whether  he  was  afraid,  or  ihought 
it  only  a  trick  to  imprison  him,  will  remain  a  rn^stery  till 
his  Travels  are  published. 

23d.  Sumner  departs,  and  we  are  left  cuite  lonely. 
Eead  Scott's  Rokeby.  In  the  evening  see  the  half- 
moon  sailing  through  broken  clouds,  wAite  and  black, 
like  a  ship  making  her  way  through  fields  of  ice. 

25th.  Mr.  [F.  H.]  Underwood  calls  co  talk  about  some 
literary  matters. 

To  G.  W.  Greme. 

N  AH  ANT,  August  25,  1871. 

The  senator  [Sumner]  has  (Departed;  he  comes  back  to 
Nahant  on  Sunday,  but  not  to  me,  having  another  friend 
to  visit  here,  who  insists  apon  having  his  share.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  the  violent  attack  of  angina  pectoris 
which  he  had  last  winder  has  left  some  traces.  He  com 
plains  that  I  walk  t>o  fast,  and  is  averse  to  walking  at 
all.  The  air  of  Nalant  is  just  the  thing  for  him,  and  he 
means  to  stay  a  ^ eek  or  two  longer,  —  about  as  long  as 
we  do. 

Thanks  for  ihe  gondolier's  pamphlet  on  Dante ;  I  dare 
say  it  is  ver*  curious :  but  did  you  find  in  it  any  valuable 
hint  or  suggestion  ?  On  Tuesday  we  made  our  expedition 
to  Minor's  Ledge ;  it  was  every  way  pleasant  and  success 
ful.  V  e  wished  you  could  have  been  with  us ;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  notify  you  in  season.  The  lighthouse  rises 
out  of  the  sea  like  a  beautiful  stone  cannon,  mouth  up 
ward,  belching  forth  only  friendly  fires.  We  went  up 
into  it,  —  even  into  the  lantern  .itself,  the  glass  of  which 
(beautiful  plate-glass)  cost  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  can 
believe  this,  having  seen  it,  and  knowing  what  telescopic 
lenses  cost  The  lantern  will  hold  six  people  easily. 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  171 

The  days  grow  shorter ;  '  the  trees  begin  to  scatter  their 
curl-papers  about  the  grass  ;  there  is  a  touch  of  autumn 
in  the  air ;  and  the  swift  summer  is  gone. 


September  1.     Everything  alive  with  sunshine,  and  the 

.  sea  grinding  its  curved  battle-axe  on  the  beach.     Eead  in 

Plutarch's   Morals  and  in  Tyndall's   Swiss    Sketches,  — 

climbing  the  Matterhorn  and  other  perilous  peaks.     His 

descriptions  of  sky-effects  are  very  beautiful. 

2d.  Eeceive  from  Mr.  Henry  Gersoni  a  Hebrew  trans 
lation  of  '  Excelsior.' 

4th.  Call  on  Dr.  Holmes  at  Mr.  James's.  Sumner 
still  there.  We  discuss  the  new  poets. 

7th.  I  begin  to  grow  restless,  and  want  to  get  back  to 
Cambridge. 

llth.  Begin  to  pack.  I  wish  it  were  over,  and  I  in 
Cambridge.  I  am  impatient  to  send  the  Divine  Tragedy 
to  the  printers. 

25th,  Cambridge.  Begin  the  printing  of  the  Tragedy. 
In  the  evening  look  over  Weber's  Metrical  Romances. 

28th.  Sophocles  passed  a  couple  of  hours  with  me 
talking  about  Homer,  and  the  convents  in  the  East,  in 
one  of  which  he  was  educated. 

29th.     Read  Strodtman's  Life  of  Heine. 

30th.  Dinner  at  the  Club.  Among  other  guests  M. 
Coquerel,  the  Protestant  liberal  clergyman  from  Paris. 
A  very  agreeable  man,  speaking  English  with  the  greatest 
fluency. 

October  11.  In  the  evening  take  the  girls  to  see  Miss 
Nilsson  in  Lucia.  Her  singing  and  acting  both  superb. 
Brignoli,  with  his  pathetic  tenor,  as  Edgardo. 

12th.  Corrected  manuscript  and  proofs.  Strodtman's 
Heine;  rather  long-winded. 

15th.     Drove  Agassiz  in  to  dine  with  Mr.  Hooper,  to  meet 


172  JOURNAL.  [1871. 

President  Grant  and  some  of  his  Secretaries.  The  Presi 
dent  is  a  quiet,  unostentatious  man,  with  a  soft,  pleasant 
voice. 

18th.  The  delays  of  printers  are  a  great  worry  to 
authors. 

20th.  A  call  from  the  son  of  the  late  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  whom  I  saw  at  Lambeth  Palace  in  1868.. 
Went  with  him  to  the  Library  and  to  the  Museum. 

21st.  Go  to  see  Prescott's  library,  which  is  to  be  sold 
by  auction  ;  then  to  Music  Hall  to  hear  the  organ. 

25th.  At  the  Prescott  sale.  A  great  sacrifice.1  Get 
the  last  proof-sheet  of  the  Divine  Tragedy. 

28th.  Dinner  at  Club.  The  British  Parliament  was 
well  represented. 

29th.  Heard  M.  Coquerel,  the  French  clergyman, 
preach  in  English,  which  he  did  astonishingly  well.  The 
choir  sang  Luther's  hymn,  Eiru  feste  Burg,  in  Dr.  Hedge's 
translation,  which  I  thought  very  good. 

30th.     Eead  over  proofs  of  the  Interludes  and  Finale 
and  am  doubtful  and  perplexed. 

31st.  Mr.  Samuelson,  M.P.,  came  out  to  dine.  We 
took  a  walk  to  see  the  Colleges  and  the  Observatory. 
Lowell  dined  with  us,  and  was  very  gay  and  agreeable. 

November  2.  Walked  to  Eiverside,  and  bought  Pictures 
in  Black,  by  Paul  Konewka,  —  books  for  children,  but  with 
beautiful  "  scissor-pictures,"  silhouettes  of  great  artistic 
skill;  I  never  tire  of  them,  they  are  so  natural. 

8th.  M.  Coquerel,  Professor  Child,  and  S.  at  our 
family  dinner  to-day.  Coquerel  is  a  great  talker,  and 
talks  well. 

15th.  All  the  last  week  perplexed  and  busy  with  final 
correction  of  the  Tragedy. 

1  Mr.  Prescott's  copies  of  Irving  —  nine  volumes  —  are  in  the 
library  of  Craigie  House. 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  173 

16th.  Went  down  to  the  Riverside  Press  with  a  manu 
script  novel  sent  by  a  lady  to  find  a  publisher,  and  be 
speak  for  it  an  early  and  friendly  reading.  Call  on 
Mountford,  who  has  taken  the  old  Winthrop  house  for 
the  winter.1 

17th.  Two  editions  of  the  Divine  Tragedy  will  be 
published  at  the  same  time,  —  a  dear  one  and  a  cheap 
one.  I  never  had  so  many  doubts  and  hesitations  about 
any  book  as  about  this. 

18th.  Went  with  Fields  to  the  Globe  to  see  Miss 
Cushman  as  Katharine  in  Henry  VIII. 

19th.  Wrote  a  great  many  letters.  Sumner  at  dinner. 
He  seemed  weary  of  work. 


To  Florence  A- 


November  20,  1871. 

I  have  put  off  answering  your  nice  little  note  from  day 
to  day ;  but,  as  you  see,  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  I  have 
been  hoping  all  along  that  some  lines  of  poetry,  such  as 
you  ask  for,  would  come  into  my  mind.  But  they  would 
not,  and  so  I  have  to  write  you  in  prose,  not  to  keep  you 
waiting  any  longer. 

If  you  will  ask  your  papa,  who  knows  all  about  it,  he 
will  tell  you  that  good  poems  do  not  always  come  to  one's 
mind  when  wanted.  Verses  —  yes,  one  can  write  those 
at  any  time ;  but  real  poetry  —  that  is  another  matter.  I 
think  good  prose  is  better  than  bad  verse.  I  do  not 
say  bad  poetry,  because  when  it  is  bad,  it  is  no  longer 
poetry. 

And  so  I  send  you  this  little  note  instead  of  a  little 
song;  and  with  it  good  wishes  for  your  birthday,  and 
kind  remembrances  for  your  father. 

1  William  Mountford,  author  of  Euthanasy,  and  Thorpe. 


174  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

26th.  Drove  over  to  the  Navy  Yard  in  the  afternoon 
with  my  girls  to  see  the  little  steamer  (the  "  Hassler  ")  in 
which  Agassiz  is  going  round  the  Cape.  Yesterday  at  the 
Club  dinner  we  drank  his  health  at  parting.  I  proposed 
it  thus :  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  reminded  that  we  shall  not 
again  have  with  us  for  a  year  and  a  day  our  dear  Agassiz, 
who  sits  there  at  the  head  of  the  table  so  joyous  and 
unconcerned.  I  shall,  therefore,  for  once  break  through 
our  usual  custom  and  propose  his  health.  Wordsworth 
once  said  that  he  could  have  written  the  plays  of  Shakes 
peare  if  he  had  had  a  mind  to.  And  I  suppose  that  on 
an  occasion  like  this  I  could  make  a  speech,  —  if  I  had  a 
mind  to.  But  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind ;  I  shall 
limit  myself  to  proposing  '  The  health  of  Agassiz :  his 
deepest  sea-soundings  shall  not  be  deeper  than  our  love 
and  admiration  for  him. 

'  Quis  desiderio  sit  pudor  aut  modus 
Tam  cari  capitis  1'" 

From  Bayard  Taylor. 

KENNETT  SQUARE,  November  27,  1871. 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Now  all  is  clear!  I  can 
overlook  your  design  from  first  to  last,  and  see  how  each 
part  grows  in  importance  as  it  falls  into  its  place.  The 
closing  of  the  Divine  Tragedy  with  the  Apostles'  Creed 
somewhat  puzzled  me;  and  when  I  received  your  letter 
on  Saturday,  I  could  not  guess  how  the  New  England 
Tragedies  were  to  be  connected.  But  the  proofs  of  the 
Interludes  and  the  Finale,  which  arrived  this  morning, 
give  me  the  key  to  all.  I  do  not  feel  that  the  meaning 
of  any  detail  is  doubtful,  and  each  gains  from  the  extent 
and  beauty  and  altitude  of  the  uniting  design. 

I  know  not  who  else  before  you  has  so  wonderfully 
wedded  Poetry  and  the  Eeligious  Sentiment.  Milton,  cer- 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  175 

tainly,  only  half  succeeded ;  and  in  spite  of  Klopstock's 
former  popularity  I  must  insist  that  he  entirely  failed. 
What  in  this  completed  work  might  seem  simplest  to  the 
ordinary  reader,  is  to  me  the  greatest  evidence  of  your 
success.  In  the  Finale  the  familiar  phrases  meet  me  in  a 
transfigured  form:  it  is  a  new  illustration  of  the  power 
which  perfect  rhythm  adds  to  language. 

I  congratulate  you  from  my  heart ;  and  in  doing  so  I 
congratulate  myself :  for  each  new  achievement  in  Poetry 
is  an  indirect  inspiration  to  me.  I  feel  anew  the  capacity 
to  rise  when  another  rises.  And  I  have  not  had  for  a 
long  time  such  an  influx  of  fresh  hope  and  courage  as 
within  the  past  seven  days.1 

Always  faithfully  yours, 

BAYAKD  TAYLOR. 


December  1.  Dined  with  Charles  Perkins  to  meet  Dr. 
Howson,  Dean  of  Chester,  England. 

3d.     Finished  the  '  Baron  Castine  of  St.  Castine.' 

4th.  Call  on  the  Dean  of  Chester  at  Dr.  Wharton's ; 
and  with  him  on  Mrs.  Stowe.  We  see  her  and  her  sister 
Miss  Beecher,  and  Dr.  Stowe,  with  his  wild  snowstorm  of 
hair  and  beard. 

5th.  A  year  ago  to-day  I  began  the  Divine  Tragedy, 
and  finished  it  on  the  27th  of  January.  To-day  the  thought 
comes  back  to  my  mind  of  a  Tragedy  of  Judas  Maccabeus, 
which  I  noted  down  as  long  ago  as  1850.  Went  with  the 
Dean  and  his  daughters  to  the  Library,  to  the  Museum, 
to  Dr.  Palfrey's,  to  the  Botanic  Garden.  They  dined 
with  us. 

1  Shortly  before,  Mr.  Taylor  had  written  :  "  I  am  full  of  renewed 
hope  and  courage  this  evening  after  your  cordial  words.  But,  as  I 
have  tried  to  say,  I  have  never  yet  met  you  without  some  clear, 
strong,  generous  encouragement." 


176  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

8th.  Lunched  at  President  Eliot's  to  meet  the  Grand 
Duke  Alexis  of  Eussia,  a  tall,  handsome  youth  of  twenty- 
one  or  two. 

9th.  At  the  dinner  given  by  citizens  of  Boston  to  the 
Grand  Duke.  Winthrop  presided,  and  there  was  much 
speech-making  till  midnight. 

10th.  At  home  all  day.  Began  the  Tragedy  of  Judas 
Maccabeus.  The  subject  is  a  very  striking  one,  —  the 
collision  of  Judaism  and  Hellenism;  I  greatly  wonder 
that  it  has  not  been  treated  before. 

llth.  By  invitation  of  the  Grand  Duke,  dine  with  him 
at  the  Eevere.  Besides  his  suite,  the  guests  were  Win 
throp,  Lowell,  Holmes,  President  Eliot,  Mr.  Fox,  Mr. 
Winlock,  and  Mr.  Storer,  the  Eussian  consul. 

12th.     The  Divine  Tragedy  is  published  to-day. 

17th.  Taylor's  notice  of  Chris tus  in  the  New  York 
Tribune  is  very  good,  and  shows  the  scope  of  the  whole 
poem  and  the  connection  of  its  parts. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  17,  1871. 

It  is  not  tobacco  that  brings  upon  the  human  race  those 
evils  whose  long  and  dismal  catalogue  you  send  me ;  but, 
as  Dr.  Holland  —  not  the  author  of  '  Bitter-Sweet,'  though 
I  dare  say  the  author  of  sweet  bitters  —  once  said,  tapping 
a  bottle  at  the  dinner-table  with  his  knife,  "  That  is  the 
fellow  that  does  the  mischief ! " 

I  supposed  that  long  ago  you  had  gone  from  Cornell's 
Ithaca  to  your  own  ;  by  your  letter  to-day  I  see  that  little 
Telemachus  must  still  be  looking  for  Ulysses. 

The  Divine  Tragedy  is  very  successful,  from  the  booksel 
ler's  point  of  view,  —  ten  thousand  copies  were  published 
on  Tuesday  last,  and  the  printers  are  already  at  work  on 
three  thousand  more.  That  is  pleasant,  but  that  is  not 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  177 

the  main  thing.  The  only  question  about  a  book  ought 
to  be  whether  it  is  successful  in  itself.  Bayard  Taylor, 
Lowell,  and  Fields  dined  with  me  yesterday. 


18th.     Finish  Act  third  of  Maccabeus,  begun  yesterday. 

21st.  Finish  Judas  Maccabeus,  —  begun  on  the  10th  ; 
the  Acts  are  not  long,  but  there  are  five  of  them.  A  new 
subject  comes  to  my  mind,  —  Hagar  and  Ishmael.  But 
can  it  be  wrought  into  a  tragedy  ?  It  is  tragic  enough ; 
but  has  it  unity,  and  has  it  a  catastrophe  to  end  with  ? 

22d.     Eead  in  Forster's  Life  of  Dickens. 

To  a.  W.  Greene. 

December  23,  1871. 

The  weather  to-day  has  been  Eoman  weather,  that  takes 
all  manliness  out  of  a  man  ;  and  to-night  the  south  wind 
is  pelting  hail,  rain,  and  sleet  against  my  study-windows. 
I  feel,  too,  a  little  exhausted  by  work,  for  within  the  last 
fortnight  I  have  written  a  tragedy,  which  hangs  over  your 
visit  like  a  thunder-cloud.  You  will  have  to  hear  it,  how 
ever  sound  you  may  sleep  in  the  green  chair.  I  have  also 
many  things  to  tell  you  of  the  dinner  to  the  Grand  Duke 
Alexis,  at  which  I  was  present,  sitting  at  the  right  hand 
of  this  amiable  and  handsome  youth.  On  the  whole,  it 
was  most  successful ;  but  two  or  three  things  were  said  in 
speeches  that  were  amazingly  funny.  Have  you  seen 
Forster's  Life  of  Dickens  ?  It  is  very  interesting,  but  it 
made  me  profoundly  melancholy  ;  perhaps  I  can  tell  you 
why,  but  I  hardly  care  to  write  it. 

With  all  good  wishes  for  a  happy,  if  not  a  merry, 
Christmas. 

27th.  Finished  two  scenes  of  '  Hagar.'  It  interests  me; 
but  whether  I  can  make  anything  of  it  is  doubtful.1 

1  Only  a  few  fragments  more  were  written. 
12 


178  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1871. 

29th.  Read  to  Greene  (who  arrived  last  night)  '  Baron 
Castine,'  which  he  likes,  and  '  Judas/  which  he  does  not 
dislike.  Eeceive  a  highly  complimentary  letter  from  Eev. 
Dr.  Bushnell  on  the  Divine  Tragedy. 


From  Horace,  Bushnell. 

HARTFORD,  December  28,  1871. 

DEAE  SIR,  —  Since  it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  to 
express  my  delight  in  the  success  of  your  poem,  you  can 
not  well  deny  me  the  privilege.  When  I  heard  the  first 
announcement  of  it  as  forthcoming,  I  said :  "  Well,  it  is 
the  grandest  of  all  subjects  ;  why  has  it  never  been  at 
tempted  ? "  And  yet  I  said  inwardly  in  the  next  breath  : 
"  What  mortal  power  is  equal  to  the  handling  of  it  ? " 
The  greater  and  the  more  delightful  is  my  surprise  at  the 
result.  You  have  managed  the  theme  with  really  wonder 
ful  address.  The  episodes,  and  the  hard  characters,  and  the 
partly  imaginary  characters,  you  had  your  liberty  in ;  and 
you  have  used  them  well  to  suffuse  and  flavor  and  poetize 
the  story.  And  yet,  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  the  part 
which  finds  me  most  perfectly,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  most 
poetic  poetry  of  all,  is  the  prose-poem,  —  the  nearly 
rhythmic  transcription  of  the  simple  narrative  matter  of 
the  gospels.  Perhaps  the  true  account  of  it  may  be  that 
the  handling  is  so  delicately  reverent,  intruding  so  little 
of  the  poet's  fine  thinking  and  things,  that  the  reverence 
incorporate  promotes  the  words  and  lifts  the  ranges  of 
the  sentiment ;  so  that  when  the  reader  comes  out  at  the 
close,  he  finds  himself  in  a  curiously  new  kind  of  inspira 
tion,  born  of  modesty  and  silence. 

I  can  easily  imagine  that  certain  chaffy  people  may  put 
their  disrespect  on  you  for  what  I  consider  your  praise. 
Had  you  undertaken  to  build  the  Christ  yourself,  as  they 


1871.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  179 

would  require  of  you,  I  verily  believe  it  would  have  killed 
you,  —  that  is,  made  you  a  preacher. 
With  many  thanks,  I  am  yours, 

HOKACE   BUSHNELL. 


30th.     Eeceive  from  Eoutledge  in  London  three  notices 
of  the  Tragedy,  all  hostile. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 
1872. 

January  4.  Head  Sheik  Saadi's  Gulistan,  in  Gladwin's 
translation,  with  preface  by  Emerson. 

15th.  Give  the  day  to  the  reading  of  a  novel  of  Tour- 
ge'nief,1  —  beautifully  written,  but  painful. 

16th.  Eead  Mrs.  [Emma]  Marshall's  Heights  and  Val 
leys,  which  the  authoress  sends  me,  —  a  well- written  tale 
of  the  religious  kind. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  21,  1872. 

Do  not  jump  rashly  at  disagreeable  conclusions.  A 
newspaper  writer  is  not  infallible,  any  more  than  Pio 
Nono.  So  do  not  yield  to  despondency  because  Solomon 
proposes  to  cut  the  baby  in  two.  Possibly  he  has  no  such 
intention. 

A  theological  question  has  just  risen  in  my  mind. 
What  right  has  a  Calvinist  to  get  married  and  beget 
children,  when,  according  to  his  doctrine,  the  chances  are 
that  they  will  go  into  everlasting  torment  ?  Ought  he  not 
rather  to  go  into  a  monastery  or  a  Shaker  brotherhood  ? 

I  return  Professor  F 's  letter,  and  am  glad  that  he 

enjoyed  the  dinner.     You  did,  and  I  did,  and  we  all  did ; 
and  it  was  very  pleasant  every  way. 

1  Probably  Liza,  sent  him  by  the  translator,  "W.  R.  S.  Ralston. 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  181 

February  3.  Eead  in  Taine's  History  of  English  Lit 
erature, —  a  prodigiously  clever  book. 

4th.  Continue  Taine.  How  does  a  Frenchman  con 
trive  to  go  out  of  himself  and  get  such  insight  into  things 
English  ? 

llth.  Bead  Voltaire's  Zaire.  These  two  lines  make 
me  think  of  Sumner:  — 

"  Heureux  h  qui  le  ciel  a  donne  le  pouvoir 
De  remplir  comme  vous  un  si  noble  devoir." 

To  C.  E.  Norton  (in  Europe). 

February  20,  1872. 

I  was  delighted  to  get  your  letter  and  to  learn  that  you 
are  all  well,  and  particularly  that  your  mother's  health  is 
quite  restored.  That  is  the  best  news  you  could  send, 
and  brightens  up  your  letter,  otherwise  rather  gloomy 
with  the  gigantic  scoundrelism  of  your  native  land.  And 
no  wonder.  At  times  it  seems  to  me  that  we  have  the 
millstone  round  our  neck,  and  that  the  rest  is  coming. 
Still,  I  have  faith  that  the  good  will  conquer,  and  do  not 
fall  upon  my  sword. 

Thanks  for  the  Uhland  Catalogue,  which  is  curious  and 
worth  keeping.  But  what  a  mouldy,  mediaeval  collection 
of  old  armor!  Quaritch  has  published  a  similar  catalogue 
of  valuable  old  rubbish,  which  if  you  have  not  seen  I  ad 
vise  you  to  get.  It  is  very  curious ;  and  for  the  moment 
one  is  seduced  into  believing  that  he  really  wants  the 
books  and  must  have  them :  but  he  lays  the  catalogue 
away,  and  the  pleasing  illusion  soon  vanishes.  Still,  I 
confess  that  of  all  the  ways  of  spending  money  yet  de 
vised  by  man,  this  is  to  me  the  most  fascinating. 

I  have  requested  Tauchnitz  to  send  you  a  copy  of  his 
edition  of  my  new  book  [The  Divine  Tragedy].  It  is  the 
first  part  of  Christus.  The  three  parts  are  to  be  joined  by 


182  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

Interludes  of  '  The  Abbot  Joachim '  and  '  Martin  Luther,' 
and  closed  by  a  Finale,  '  St.  John,'  —  a  counterpoise  to  the 
'Introitus'  of  the  present  volume.  This  is  an  old,  old 
design;  twenty  years  old  and  more,  and  only  now  com 
pleted.  In  a  certain  sense  one  part  explains  and  requires 
the  others.  .  .  . 

Your  cousin,  S.  Eliot,  has  begun  his  lectures  in  the 
University  course,  on  the  History  of  the  present  century. 
I  hear  that  his  audience  is  large,  and  young  ladies  abound 
in  the  class.  I  missed  his  introductory,  but  shall  attend 
the  rest.  I  rejoice  in  his  success.  — Appleton  has  a  volume 
of  poems  in  the  press. 


24th.  Club  dinner.  Had  as  my  guest  the  amiable 
Robert  Dale  Owen.  On  the  other  side  of  me  sat  Kobert 
Collyer,  the  clergyman.  Both  men  of  mark. 

25th.  Eead  Schiller's  Don  Carlos.  At  dinner  had  Dr. 
Clement,  of  Hamburg,  —  a  simple,  sweet  old  man,  very 
naif.  By  birth  he  is  a  Frieslander,  born  on  one  of  the 
islands  in  the  North  Sea. 

26th.  Hear  Sophocles  on  Simon  Magus,  with  some 
extracts  from  his  writings  and  account  of  his  doctrines 
that  have  not  found  their  way  into  the  Biblical  Diction 
aries.  Very  interesting  and  curious.  Helen  of  Tyre  he 
called  his  Epinoia,  or  self -consciousness. 

I  have  more  definitely  conceived  the  idea  of  a  dramatic 
poem  on  Michael  Angelo  and  Vittoria  Colonna,  which  has 
been  vaguely  hovering  in  my  thoughts  for  some  time. 
Can  I  accomplish  it? 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  26,  1872. 

I  have  been  reading  to-day  Schiller's  Don  Carlos.  It  is 
more  poetical  than  Alfieri's  Filippe,  but  not  so  simply 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  183 

tragic.  Alfieri's  tragedy  is  the  drop  of  deadly  poison  in  a 
ring;  Schiller's  is  the  same,  diluted  and  drunk  from  a 
silver-chased  goblet.  Schiller's  is  a  very  noble  poem, 
affluent  in  thought  and  diction,  but  too  long  and  too  in 
tricate  for  a  tragedy.  The  real  Tragic  Muse  hardly  stops 
to  pluck  so  many  flowers  by  the  way. 

I  went  down  this  morning  to  hear  Professor  Sophocles 
lecture  on  Simon  Magus.  It  was  curious,  —  curt,  sarcas 
tic,  learned.  He  has  found  some  rather  new  material 
which  the  ready  writers  of  the  Biblical  Dictionaries  seem 
to  have  overlooked ;  but,  virtually,  it  was  the  portrait  I 
have  given  in  the  Divine  Tragedy.  There  were  some 
things,  however,  which  I  wish  I  had  known  before. 

I  am  at  this  moment  paying  the  penalty  of  exposure  to 
the  bitter  wind.  It  has  pierced  me  with  a  thousand 
spears,  dried  up  my  lungs,  and  parched  my  throat.  Talk 
of  the  east  wind !  It  is  a  benediction  compared  with  this 
west  wind  out  there  now,  howling  like  a  wolf,  —  though, 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  heard  a  wolf  howl,  only  a 
dog. 

I  have  been  reading  to-day  Maffei's  Meropa.  An  inter 
esting  subject;  but  such  a  style!  The  great  Dryasdust 
himself  could  hardly  surpass  it.  Schlegel  is  unjust  to 
Alfieri;  he  emphasizes  his  defects,  and  seems  not  to  see 
his  merits,  —  his  force,  his  directness,  the  "  still  river  that 
runs  deep  "  of  his  style. 


27th.  My  sixty-fifth  birthday,  —  and  a  bitter  cold  day 
it  is,  which  keeps  me  close  indoors.  Eead  Schlegel's 
lectures  on  the  German  Drama;  then  a  most  interesting 
and  charmingly  written  book,  Hermann  Grimm's  Life  of 
Michael  Angelo. 

28th.  Indoors,  reading  Grimm.  The  book  is  very  in 
teresting,  though  I  think  too  much  space  is  given  to  the 


184  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

political  history  of  the  time  ;  at  all  events,  I  should  have 
been  satisfied  with  less. 

29th.  Heard  S.  Eliot's  lecture.  He  came  home  to 
dine  with  me,  and  it  was  very  pleasant. 

March  2.  Keep  indoors,  looking  over  Vasari's  Lives  of 
the  Painters.  Write  to  Sumner  and  to  Greene. 

3d.  Eead  in  Vasari  and  Benvenuto  Cellini  and  Mrs. 
Jameson's  Italian  Painters,  and  live  in  Italy  in  spirit,  while 
my  poor  body  suffers  here  with  a  dismal  cold.  —  In  the 
afternoon  Howells  came  in  with  Bret  Harte. 

4th.  Beading  and  making  notes  for  Michael  Angelo. 
The  subject  attracts  me ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  treat 
dramatically,  for  want  of  unity  of  action  and  plot  in 
general. 

15th.  I  have  long  neglected  this  record.  The  last  ten 
days  have  been  filled  with  Michael  Angelo.  I  have  made 
many  notes,  and  written  one  Act, — the  scenes  between 
him  and  Benvenuto  and  Sebastian,  —  and  sketched  others. 
I  shall  have  as  hard  a  time  in  casting  this  statue  as  Ben 
venuto  had  in  casting  his  Perseus ;  but  it  promises  fair, 
and  I  am  in  no  hurry.  I  want  it  for  a  long  and  delight 
ful  occupation.  I  have  written  the  close,  or  epilogue. 

17th.  Have  Ascanio  Condivi's  Life  of  Angelo;  also 
Halford's,  which  has  an  engraving  of  Sebastian's  portrait 
of  Vittoria. 

31st.  This  is  a  melancholy  Easter  Sunday.  The 
ground  is  white  with  snow,  the  thermometer  at  freezing, 
the  wind  northeast,  arid  a  sleety  rain  falling.  —  In  Michael 
Angelo  I  have  now  written  [six  scenes] ;  others  are  to  be 
interspersed  and  added. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  31,  1872. 

What  has  put  it  into  my  head,  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  was  thinking  just  now  of  Empoli,  famous  in  Tuscan 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  185 

annals  and  Storie  Florentine.  We  passed  through  it  after 
dark.  The  station  was  ablaze  with  lights.  It  sounded 
strangely  to  hear  the  conductor  of  the  train  cry  :  "  Em- 
poli ! "  and  a  boy  selling  cakes  and  fruit  repeat  over  and 
over  again,  "Aranci,  cigari,  paste,  pane,  mele!"  What  a 
contrast  with  Farinata's  fiery  speech  in  the  days  of  old ! 

If  you  can  tell  by  what  possible  association  this  comes 
to  mind,  you  can  do  more  than  I  can. 


April  3.  A  wedding  in  St.  John's  Church,  close  by  us. 
An  April  day  of  cloud  and  sunshine  ;  but  in  the  prayer, 
as  the  clergyman  said  "  Send  down  thy  blessing  upon 
them,"  the  sun  burst  from  the  clouds  and  poured  through 
the  high  windows  of  the  choir  a  flood  of  golden  light 
upon  the  bride  and  bridegroom. 

4th.  Arranged  my  books  upstairs.  Governor  Claflin 
called,  with  President  Eaymond  of  Vassar  College,  —  a 
female  college  at  Poughkeepsie. 

5th.  Went  to  town  to  give  Ernest  a  sitting.  Saw 
Hazeltine's  bust  of  me,  made  in  Rome  in  1869,  —  a  clever 
piece  of  work,  I  should  say. 

6th.     Went  to  the  Lifting  Cure.     Sat  to  Ernest. 

10th.  Field  of  Philadelphia,  Fields  of  Boston,  and 
Lowell  dined  with  us  at  our  Wednesday  family  dinner. 

12th.  Have  put  a  balustrade  on  the  bank  in  front  of 
the  house.  Do  not  half  like  it. 

18th.  Finished  '  San  Silvestro,'  in  Michael  Angelo.  I 
have  now  written  seven  acts  or  parts  of  the  work;  but 
some  of  the  most  important  are  still  to  come.  In  the 
evening  went  with  Mrs.  F.  to  hear  the  German  poet,  Dr. 
Jordan,  recite  his  Nibelungen. 

May  4.  The  Three  Books  of  Song  is  going  to  press  at 
once.  First  edition  to  be  ten  thousand  copies. 

5th.     A  dreary  day.     Paced  up  and  down  the  veranda, 


186  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

but  took  no  long  walk.  —  Horace  Greeley  is  nominated  by 
the  Cincinnati  Convention  as  candidate  for  the  Presidency 
in  opposition  to  General  Grant ! 

6th.  I  take  this  time  of  Greene's  visit  for  a  good  rest, 
neither  writing  nor  reading. 

10th.  A  lovely  day,  full  of  sunshine,  blossoms,  and 
sweet,  sad  memories. 

llth.  Greene  departs,  and  I  am  left  solitary,  to  resume 
the  old  tasks. 

12th.  Wrote  a  short  poem  on  '  Charlemagne  '  from  a 
story  in  an  old  chronicle,  De  Factis  Caroli  Magni,  quoted 
by  Cantu,  Storia  degli  Italiani,  ii.  122.  I  first  heard  it 
from  Charles  Perkins  in  one  of  his  lectures. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  14,  1872. 

After  you  left  me  on  Saturday,  I  beguiled  a  part  of  the 
dull  day  by  reading  the  last  book  of  the  Iliad  in  Cesarotti's 
translation.  This  reading  confirms  me  in  my  theory  of 
translation.  In  Cesarotti  you  see  Homer,  —  the  very  man 
you  are  looking  for.  Sometimes  his  prose  runs  almost 
into  hexameters. 

Yesterday  I  received  a  beautiful  bouquet  of  tea-roses 

from  Mr.  A and  Miss  W ,  in  memory  of  their 

visit.  I  also  wrote  a  poem  on  the  descent  of  Charlemagne 
into  Italy,  from  an  old  Latin  chronicle,  —  a  very  striking 
incident.  It  will  find  a  place  —  indeed,  has  already  found 
a  place  —  in  Michael  Angelo;  you  will  not  see  how  nor 
where,  but  I  do.1  Soon  after  you  were  gone,  came  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Fields,  inviting  us  to  dine  with  her  after  hear 
ing  Emerson  on  Monday. 

1  This  poem, '  Charlemagne,'  found  a  place,  not  in  Michael  Angelo, 
but  in  the  third  part  of  the  Wayside  Inn. 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  187 

18th.  Finished  'Santa  Anna  dei  Funari'  in  Michael 
Angelo ;  and  that  finishes  the  poem,  the  third  part  being 
already  written.  So  the  poem  in  its  first  form  is  complete ; 
but  other  scenes  will  be  intercalated.  I  began  it  March  6. 

19th.  Eead  Miss  Preston's  translation  of  Mireio,  a  Pro- 
vencjal  poem  by  Freddric  Mistral,  —  a  truly  lovely  and 
wonderful  poem.  I  wish  I  had  the  original.  Why  did 
no  one  put  it  into  my  hands  in  France  ?  It  is  very 
pathetic  and  captivating. 

25th.  My  Three  Books  of  Song  published  to-day. 
Club  dinner.  Admiral  Stedman,  Julian  Hawthorne,  and 
Mr.  Aldrich  were  the  guests.  In  the  evening  J.  0. 

29th.  The  lilacs  in  full  bloom,  and  a  certain  sadness 
in  the  air.  Read  Mr.  Watt's  Fra  JEgypternes  Land.  In 
the  afternoon  heard  Charles  Perkins's  closing  lecture  on 
Italian  Art. 

June  1.  Eead  parts  of  Oehlenschlager's  Helge,  and  also 
Mr.  Watt's  account  of  his  visit  to  the  Craigie  House,  "  Et 
Besog  hos  Henry  Longfellow,"  in  For  Bomantik  og  Historie, 
with  a  portrait  having  the  shoulders  up  to  the  ears.  I 
confess  I  do  not  like  to  have  my  private  conversations 
reported  in  print. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  4,  1872. 

On  reading  the  line  in  your  letter  about  your  reluctance 
to  touch  an  Italian  theme,  there  came  swimming  into  the 
twilight  of  memory,  like  a  planet,  a  sentence  from  Locke, 
which  I  have  remembered  ever  since  my  college  days : 

"  Thus  the  ideas,  as  well  as  the  children,  of  our  youth  often  die 
before  us  ;  and  our  minds  represent  to  us  those  tombs  to  which  we 
are  approaching,  where,  though  the  brass  and  marble  remain,  yet  the 
inscriptions  are  effaced  by  time,  and  the  imagery  moulders  away." 

That  little  flower  of  rhetoric  blooms  for  me  far  back  in 
my  Junior  year. 


188  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

To  C.  E.  Norton. 

June  19,  1872. 

As  soon  as  I  received  your  last  letter  I  acted  upon  it 
without  a  moment's  delay.  I  wrote  a  line  or  two  in  the 
evening  to  Karl  Witte,  and  the  next  morning  sent  a  large- 
paper  copy  of  the  Divine  Comedy.  .  .  .  Your  description 
of  him  is  very  interesting,  and  makes  me  regret  that  I  did 
not  go  to  Halle  to  visit  him  and  see  his  Dante  collection, 
as  you  did.  —  I  suppose  you  have  not  yet  seen  Miss  Eos- 
setti's  Shadow  of  Dante,  —  it  is  an  excellent  book,  which 
you  will  like.  Lowell  has  a  review  of  it  in  the  next  North 
American.  —  Cambridge  is  now  in  its  glory  of  leaves  and 
blossoms,  and  awaits  your  return  with  impatience. 


21st.  Class-day,  and  very  hot.  A  call  from  Eear- 
Admiral  Polo  de  Bernabe',  the  Spanish  Minister,  and  An 
tonio  Flores,  Minister  of  Ecuador ;  they  stayed  to  dinner 
with  me,  and  we  had  a  good  deal  of  pleasant  chat.  In 
the  evening  I  walked  with  the  girls  in  the  College  grounds 
to  hear  the  music. 

25th.  Went  with  E.,  A.  and  B.  to  the  Peace  Jubilee  in 
Gilmore's  Coliseum,  and  heard  the  English,  French,  and 
Prussian  bands.  They  all  played  beautifully. 

July  2.  At  last  an  east  wind !  Welcome  a  thousand 
times ! 

5th.  Came  down  to  Nahant  for  the  summer,  —  every 
thing  as  of  old.  A  lovely  afternoon,  the  air  perfect  and 
most  delightful. 

6th.  Get  things  to  rights,  and  read  Les  Nieces  de  Maza- 
rin  [by  Amedee  Eende],  —  a  very  interesting  book,  which 
I  read  fifteen  years  ago,  and  have  not  looked  at  since. 


1872.]  LETTERS.  189 

From  T.  G.  Applcton, 

NEWPORT,  July  19,  1872. 

DEAR  H.,  —  Your  last  jolly  letter  has  been  received 
and  appreciated.  All  you  say  of  the  little  joker,  the 
Mercury,  is  but  too  true.  He  has  no  station  like  his  rela 
tive  in  '  Hamlet,'  and  he  moves  about  under  the  finger  of 
Apollo  as  he  does  under  ours,  ever  dodging  and  elusive. 
But  I  have  a  little  fellow  here  who  has  ways  of  his  own,  — 
a  Mercury  that  cannot  be  got  to  go  above  74° ;  and  a  quar 
relsome  couple  that  are  ever  reversing  their  orders,  —  the 
old  fellow  plunging  out  in  fair  weather,  and  the  lady 
without  an  umbrella  risking  it  in  the  rain.  Evidently  a 
German  toy,  made  to  sell,  and  one  of  the  dark  manoeuvres 
of  the  Black  Forest. 

E.  seemed  much  afflicted  at  my  infidelity  to  Naharit.1 
But  Nahant  must  have  had  an  easy  victory  over  Newport 
this  year  as  to  heat,  —  especially  our  delightful  villa,  with 
the  fresh  strike  of  the  southwest  from  the  water.  But 
now  it  is  much  cooler,  and  I  do  not  think  we  shall  have 
broilers,  as  before  ;  yet  I  am  preparing  to  get  out  of  these 
seas  of  sleep  to  the  crisp  dancing  of  our  clearer  water.  I 
do  not  now  often  go  beyond  Benton's  Eeef ;  once  to  Block 
Island,  —  to  me  always  before  an  isle  of  mystery,  and  now 
known  to  be  like  many  another,  though  so  solitary  and 
alone.  We  lounge  up  the  Sound  and  see  the  sunsets, 
—  often  a  splendid  bonfire  made  from  the  remnants  of  a 

fog.  Last  evening  we  spent  at  Mrs.  R  H 's,  with 

Miss  [Charlotte]  Cushman  and  the  L s.  It  is  a  pleas 
ant  thing  sitting  in  the  moonlight,  with  flats  all  about 
like  opera  decorations,  and  such  good  talk  as  Miss  Cush 
man  commands.  Mrs.  H told  me  that,  to  decorate 

her  hemicycle  and  relieve  her  too  much  green,  she  painted 

1  Mr.  Appleton  had  built  himself  a  house  in  Newport. 


190  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

some  of  her  chairs  red,  herself;  and  presently  a  scarlet 
fever  broke  out  among  all  the  outdoor  chairs  of  the  coun 
try  ;  and  now  in  Connecticut  they  prepare  them  red  by 
hundreds.  Mrs.  L is  in  constant  delight  contem 
plating  the  study  Dante,  which  she  has  on  a  little  table 
by  itself.  I  hope  you  have  secured  [the  pieces  of]  the 
Dante  coffin,  and  I  am  curious  to  hear  what  you  will  do 
with  them,  —  leave  them  as  they  are,  or  imprison  them  in 
gold  and  precious  stones.1 

Queer !  I  have  had  but  one  chowder  this  summer.  It 
is  like  some  Burgundies,  —  it  must  be  tasted  only  where 
the  codfish  are  plucked.  I  do  not  care  for  it  in  Boston, 
and  here  it  has  but  a  faint  relish  ;  but  at  Nahant  —  every 
day,  and  two  helps !  That  will  do  for  talk,  now. 

Yours  affectionately, 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 


25th.  I  always  find  the  seaside  a  very  idle,  and  there 
fore  a  very  restless,  place.  I  must  have  myself  tied  into 
my  chair,  as  Alfieri  used  to  do,  or  I  can  accomplish 
nothing. 

30th.  A  northeastern  storm  is  raging,  —  no  steam 
boat,  no  possibility  of  going  to  the  post-office.  We  are 
embargoed. 

To  J.  T.  Melds. 

NAHANT,  August  22,  1872. 

The  masked  batteries  of  the  clouds  have  opened  upon 
us  again  to-day,  and  I  write  this  under  fire.  The  house 
leaks  like  a  friend  to  whom  you  have  confided  an  important 
secret ;  and  altogether  the  aspect  of  things  is  lugubrious. 

1  Some  bits  of  the  coffin,  discovered  in  1865,  had  been  sent  to 
Mr.  Longfellow  from  Mr.  T.  B.  Lawrence,  United  States  Consul- 
General  in  Italy. 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  191 

Sumner  and  Greene  have  both  departed,  each  taking  up 
his  burden  of  care  which  he  had  laid  down  for  a  little 
while;  and  I  have  at  length  leisure  to  thank  you  for  your 
letter  of  last  week  and  Mr.  Lea's  of  this.  His  communi 
cation  is  very  interesting  and  curious.  At  all  events  it 
shows  how  old  the  song  is,  and  quite  cuts  off  the  claims  of 
the  young  Lochinvar  of  the  West  who  wants  to  run  away 
with  the  Muse.1  Owen  has  found  in  Cambridge  a  lady 
who  says  that  her  mother  taught  her  those  lines  in  her 
childhood ;  and  another  who  says  they  were  written  by  — 
Abraham  Lincoln! 


September  1.  Sumner  comes  down.  He  is  quite  over 
worked,  and  has  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Europe  on 
Tuesday  next. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

NAHANT.  September  3,  1872. 

The  interruption  of  many  visitors  has  prevented  me 
from  thanking  you  sooner  for  your  beautiful  poem.  I 
have  read  it  and  re-read  it  with  great  pleasure.  It  is 
simple  and  tender,  as  an  Idyl  should  be,  particularly  an 
'Idyl  of  the  Shakers.' 

I  have  long  thought  that  a  poem  could  be  drawn  from 
their  strange  and  unnatural  lives  of  self-surrender  and 
seclusion  from  the  world.  They  are  the  Protestant  Monks 
and  Nuns.  You  have  treated  the  theme  with  great  deli- 

1  The  communication  had  reference  to  the  song  put  into  the  mouth 
of  the  Cobbler  of  Hagenau,  in  the  second  part  of  the  Wayside 

Inn, — 

"  Our  ingress  into  the  world 
Is  naked  and  bare,"  etc. 

A  youth  had  written  from  the  West  to  say  that  he  was  the  author  of 
the  lines.  They  have  been  attributed  to  Franklin,  and  are  found  in 
print  in  an  English  work,  Eccentricities  of  John  Edwin,  1791. 


JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

cacy  and  sympathy,  —  the  only  way  in  which  such  a 
theme  can  be  treated. 

You  must  soon  be  going  home.  I  wish  I  were ;  and  yet, 
before  closing  this  establishment,  where  the  "sea-views 
are  unrivalled,  and  charges  moderate,"  I  hope  to  be  hon 
ored  by  your  presence  and  that  of  your  husband. 

We  remain  here  till  that  indefinite  period  known  as 
"the  middle  of  next  week." 

Till  then,  and  afterwards, 

Yours  truly. 


8th.  Eead  some  of  Haweis's  sermons.  He  is  a  very 
liberal  divine  of  the  Church  of  England.  Also  some 
parts  of  Biichner's  Origin  of  Man,  —  a  Darwinian  book. 

10th.  T.  and  Kensett  sail  over  to  Taft's  in  the  cold 
gray  weather  to  dine  on  birds.  Taft's  and  the  hospital 
opposite  and  the  gulf  between  them  are  an  illustration  of 
Dives  and  Lazarus,  —  Dives  faring  sumptuously  every 
day,  and  the  sea-tides  coming  and  licking  the  sores  of 
Lazarus. 

14th.     Eeturn  to  Cambridge. 

21st.  Went  to  see  the  Mayor  and  intercede  for  the 
Whitfield  elm,  which  is  to  be  cut  down. 

22d.  In  the  afternoon  Fields  comes,  and  Joaquin 
Miller,  the  California  poet,  —  a  rather  wild,  but  to  me 
very  interesting,  personality.  They  stay  to  dinner. 

24th.  Hear  that  the  Whitfield  elm  has  been  cut  down. 
Cambridge  has  an  ill  renown  for  destroying  trees. 

25th.  Pleasant  readings  of  Horace  every  morning  with 
Edith  and  Greene. 

28th.     Christus  published  to-day,  in  three  volumes. 

October  1.  Called  on  Dr.  Hedge  at  his  house  on  North 
Avenue  to  welcome  him  to  Cambridge  as  Professor  of 
German  in  the  College. 


1872.]  JOURNAL   AND  LETTERS.  193 

2d.  Hedge,  Palfrey,  ilowells,  and  Eobert  Dale  Owen 
to  dinner. 

3d.  Signer  Mario,  the  famous  tenor,  called,  with  Signor 
Marzo,  of  Naples. 

To  a.  W.  Greene. 

October  8,  1872. 

If  you  have  forgotten  it,  you  will  be  pleased  to  be  re 
minded  that  Horace  mentions  the  Craigie  House  in  Ode 
XXI.  of  the  First  Book.  He  speaks  of  it  as  the  viridis 
Crayi,  in  which  Diana  takes  delight,  —  that  is,  on  which 
the  moonlight  lingers.  To-night  her  face  is  rather  clouded 
as  she  looks  across  the  meadows.  How  splendidly  Au 
tumn  begins  to  tread  his  wine-press  !  The  creepers  round 
the  seat  in  the  old  apple-tree  have  assumed  the  shape 
of  two  magnificent  bay  horses,  or  red-bronze  horses 
rather ;  the  eyes  being  formed  by  hollows  in  the  old 
trunk.  I  delighted  in  them  for  an  hour  to-day,  pacing 
the  veranda  after  the  rain. 

Nothing  from  Siimner  yet.  He  is  as  silent  as  Grant, 
.and  I  am  as  garrulous  as  Greeley,  having  already  written 
him  three  letters.  Mr.  [George]  Macdonald  is  here,  and 
lectures  on  Burns  next  Thursday  at  Cambridgeport. 


10th.  The  evening  at  Mr.  George  Macdonald's  lecture 
on  Burns.  After  lecture  he  with  his  wife  and  son  supped 
with  me. 

13th.  Heard  Dr.  Hedge  preach  an  excellent  sermon  on 
the  Real  and  the  Ideal.  Looked  over  Eckermann's  Con 
versations.  Was  pleased  to  find  Goethe's  hearty  praise 
of  Manzoni,  particularly  his  Promessi  Sposi,  which  I  had 
forgotten. 

16th.  Went  to  Rubinstein's  concert.  He  is  a  superb 
player  on  the  pianoforte.  Equally  good  on  the  violin  was 

13 


194  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

Wieniowsky.  Wonderful  masters  of  their  instruments 
both.  Rubinstein  looks  like  Beethoven. 

19th.  Called  on  Professor  Tyndall ;  a  very  lively, 
agreeable  man.  He  is  lecturing  on  Light  at  the  Lowell 
Institute.  On  my  way  out  stopped  to  see  Agassiz,  who 
has  just  returned  from  the  Pacific. 

20th.  Sunday.  A  walk  in  Mount  Auburn,  —  a  sad 
place.  Then  called  upon  Aldrich,  who  has  Lowell's  house 
[Elniwood]  during  his  absence. 

23d.  The  "  Hecla  "  telegraphed.  We  ordered  the  car 
riage  and  drove  in  to  the  steamer.  We  were  just  in 
time.  We  drive  home  very  happy. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  24,  1872. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  Dr.  S 's  object  in  writing  to 

me,  an  "  entire  stranger,"  is  to  get  a  professorship  at  Cor 
nell,  or  some  other  university,  in  order  to  pursue  his 
studies  in  comparative  philology  "  in  the  manner  of  Max 
Mliller's  method,  without  hindrance."  He  further  says : 
"  I  should  be  happy  to  contribute  to  the  sciential  develop 
ment  of  a  country  that  produces  men  like  James  Gordon 
Bennett  and  Henry  M.  Stanley." 

I  received  the  other  day  a  valuable  and  curious  present 
from  England,  —  namely,  Coleridge's  inkstand  ; l  and  only 
wish  he  had  left  some  of  his  poems  in  it.  It  is  an  ob 
long  ebony  tray,  with  two  glass  flacons  for  the  ink  Inlaid 
between  them  is  a  small  ivory  plate,  with  the  inscrip 
tion,  —  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  his  inkstand.  I  fear  that 
the  bronze  owl  which  now  adorns  the  centre  of  my  study- 
table  will  have  to  give  place  to  this  interesting  relic. 

1  A  gift  from  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall,  of  London,  who  had  received  it  from 
Mr.  Gilman,  in  whose  house  at  Highgate  Coleridge  spent  his  last 
years. 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  195 

I  have  been  reading  lately  Goethe's  Tag  und  Jahres 
Hvfte,  and  Schiller's  Correspondence  with  Korner.  Taken 
together,  they  give  a  very  different  view  of  Goethe  from 
the  one  usually  given,  and  show  a  man  not  holding  him 
self  apart  from  others,  but  longing  for  sympathy,  and 
very  lenient  in  his  judgments.  Schiller  and  Korner  do 
not  spare  his  weaknesses.  Extracts  from  these  and  simi 
lar  works  would  make  the  best  life  of  Goethe.  All  that 
is  tedious  could  be  left  out. 


25th.  Tyndall's  closing  lecture,  on  the  invisible  rays 
of  the  sun.  Illustrated  by  brilliant  experiments. 

26th.  An  influenza  is  raging  among  the  horses.  They 
are  all  ill,  and  nearly  all  communication  with  Boston  is 
cut  off.  We  persuade  the  stable-keeper  to  let  us  have  a 
carriage  for  town  to-night.  He  promises  the  only  two 
horses  that  are  not  disabled.  Drive  in  with  Agassiz  and 
President  Eliot  to  dine  with  Tyndall  at  Mr.  Lowell's. 
A  pleasant  dinner. 

27th.  Try  to  r,ead  Festus.  I  cannot  do  it;  it  baffles, 
eludes,  and  tires  me.  It  is  too  chaotic,  too  shapeless. 
Read  Corneille's  La  Place  Boy  ale ;  and  two  Proverbes  of 
Alfred  de  Musset,  —  Un  Caprice,  and  II  faut  qu'une  porte. 

To  a.  W.  Greene. 

October  27,  1872. 

Here  is  a  bold  rhyme  from  a  new  poet.  What  would 
the  Academy  say  to  it,  —  if  there  were  an  Academy  ? 

"  A  pencilled  shade  the  sky  doth  sweep, 
And  transient  glooms  creep  in  to  sleep 

Amid  the  orchard  ; 
Fantastic  breezes  pull  the  trees 
Hither  and  yon,  to  vagaries 

Of  aspect  tortured." 


196  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

Hood  and  Horace  Smith  would  have  delighted  in  it.  But 
you  will  think  that  Pegasus  has  caught  the  influenza 
now  prevailing  among  the  horses.  This  influenza  has  cut 
us  off  from  Boston  almost  entirely.  It  has  thrown  Cam 
bridge  back  to  where  it  was  forty  years  ago.  Our  city 
has  become  once  more  a  remote  and  quiet  village.  To 
me  the  feeling  is  delightful.  I  think  of  the  army  of  in 
vaders  unable  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  I  enjoy  their  dis 
comfiture  and  my  repose.  Alas,  it  is  only  a  momentary 
triumph ! 

"  L'onde  s'enfle  dessous,  et  d'un  comnum  effort 
Les  Maures  et  la  mer  entreront  dans  le  port." 

For  Maures  read  Bores,  and  by  port  understand  Cam- 
Bridgeport. 

You  will  see  by  this  quotation  that  I  have  just  been 
reading  Corneille's  Cid.  It  is  in  the  grand  style,  —  a 
strong  and  effective  tragedy.  It  made  me  think  of  Cooper 
by  its  rude  power  and  a  certain  force  and  roughness. 


28th.  It  is  astonishing  how  all  things  are  brought  to 
a  standstill  by  this  horse-distemper.  It  would  seem  al 
most  as  if  the  world  were  turned  by  horse-power.  Drove 
to  Brookline  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Agassiz  to  lunch  at  Mr. 
Winthrop's  with  Professor  Tyndall.  I  sat  next  to  Ilev. 
Mr.  Brooks,  who  has  just  returned  from  Sweden  and 
Russia. 

30th.  It  came  into  my  head  to-day  to  read  Ossian, 
which  I  have  not  looked  into  for  forty  years  or  more,  — 
the  strange  rhapsody,  "  Did  not  Ossian  hear  a  voice  ?  Or 
was  it  the  sound  of  the  days  that  are  no  more?"  It  is 
full  of  the  figures  of  the  mist  and  rain  that  shroud  the 
northern  shores  of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  and  cannot  be 
wholly  a  forgery. 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  197 

November  2.    Passed  the  morning  in  hanging  pictures,  — 
changing  them  about ;  the  afternoon  in  walking ;  the  even 
ing  in  reading  Weber's  analysis  of  the  Nibelungen  Lied, 
with  translations,  and  Bonnet's  Olympia  Morata. 

10th.  W.  comes  in  at  breakfast,  and  says  there  was 
a  great  fire  in  Boston  last  night.  It  proves  to  be  a  ter 
rible  fire,  and  is  still  raging  among  the  largest  and  finest 
warehouses  in  the  city. 

llth.  A  soft  Indian-summer  day;  went  to  the  funeral 
of  my  old  friend  Charles  Folsom,  in  the  chapel  of  Mount 
Auburn. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  13,  1872. 

This  is  a  pretty  serious  calamity,  this  fire  in  Boston. 
Everybody  seems  to  have  lost  something  who  had  any 
thing  to  lose.  .  .  .  You  may  depend  upon  it,  there  is 
nothing  perfectly  secure  but  poverty. 

I  had  a  letter  yesterday  from  Simmer  in  London.  He 
says  he  has  not  read  an  American  newspaper  since  he 
went  away ;  but  some  idiotic  friend  has  sent  him  articles 
which  stir  him  up  to  wrath.  He  will  soon  return  to 
find  —  what?  His  party  defeated, 

"  Et  cuncta  terrarum  subacta, 
Prater  atrocem  animura  Cutonis  ;  " 

that  is  to  say,  his  own  intrepid  mind. 

I  lunched  to-day  at  Wmthrop's,  to  meet  Froude  [the 
historian], —  a  very  quiet,  pleasant  gentleman,  whom  I 
like  much.  I  have  not  yet  heard  any  of  his  lectures. 


23d.  One  of  the  loveliest  mornings.  There  was  rain 
in  the  night,  and  it  is  frozen  on  the  veranda  roofs  in  ferns 
and  stars.  The  birds  are  singing  as  if  they  thought  spring 


198  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1872. 

had  come;  the  air  is  exhilarating.  Greene  arrives  from 
Khode  Island.  We  dine  with  T. 

24th.  A  quiet  day  at  home.  More  talking  than 
walking. 

27th.  Bead  Gibbon's  Autobiography ;  also  Fitzgerald's 
translation  of  the  Hippolytus  of  Euripides.  A  modern 
application  of  this  classic  tale  might  be  made  effective. 

30th.  Too  ill  with  cold  to  go  to  Club  dinner,  and  so 
lost  the  opportunity  of  proposing  Agassiz's  welcome  home 
with  a  speech. 

December  1.  Eead  Carlyle's  account  of  Voltaire  in  the 
Frederic,  —  very  amusing. 

5th.  Eead  Forster's  Dickens,  volume  second.  Very 
interesting.  The  most  restless  of  mortals,  —  no  repose  in 
anything ;  always  at  full  speed.  It  is  a  wonder  that  he 
lived  so  long. 

7th.  Eead  Nichol's  Hannibal,  —  an  historic  drama  ; 
then,  looking  over  the  Publishers'  Circular,  I  saw,  in  Long 
mans'  list,  Hannibal  in  Italy,  an  Historical  Drama,  by 
W.  Forsythe.  I  have  often  noticed  this  kind  of  duality 
in  literary  work.  Are  thoughts  and  themes  in  the  air, 
like  an  epidemic  ?  Benedict,  of  London,  and  Paine,  of 
Cambridge,  have  both  just  completed  oratorios  of  St. 
Peter. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  19,  1872. 

Your  letter  of  yesterday  is  like  a  bucket  of  water  poured 
into  a  dry  pump,  and  forthwith  sets  the  valves  at  work 
again.  The  cold  I  took  when  you  were  here  has  lasted 
till  now,  and  made  me  rather  disinclined  .to  do  any 
thing  but  read.  I  have  only  written  to  my  enemies,  —  the 
worst  of  all  enemies,  the  "  entire  strangers  "  who  ask  ques 
tions  that  it  takes  a  day's  research  to  answer.  Marforio 


1872.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  199 

was  here  yesterday,  and  stayed  three  hours ;  but  the  day 
before,  Pasquino  stayed  five :  so  I  forgave  Marforio,  though 
he  left  all  his  sentences  unfinished.  It  is  my  own  fault, 
I  know ;  and  I  seem  to  hear  the  words  of  Demosthenes : 
"  How  would  you  comport  yourself  in  weightier  concerns 
if  you  cannot  turn  off  an  impertinent  babbler,  but  suffer 
the  eternal  trifler  to  walk  over  you  without  telling  him, 
'  Another  time,  good  sir ;  at  present  I  am  in  haste  ! ' ' 

Among  my  readings  is  that  of  Thorwaldsen's  Life  and 
Works,  by  Eugene  Plon.  Not  very  well  written,  but  ex 
tremely  interesting,  and  illustrated  with  thirty-five  wood- 
engravings  of  the  great  master.  It  is  like  a  dream  of 
Eome.  You  will  be  afraid  to  read  it ;  and  yet  you  must. 


23d.  A  snowstorm.  Eead,  and  write  letters,  —  I  be 
gin  to  think  I  shall  never  write  anything  else. 

24th.  E.  and  A.  go  to  Portland  to  pass  the  Christmas 
holidays  with  their  cousins  at  Highfield.  In  the  afternoon 
Carl  Schurz  calls,  and  stays  to  dinner. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

CHRISTMAS,  1872. 

Multos  et  f dices  I  "  Many  happy  returns  !  "  as  a  young 
lady  of  your  acquaintance  here  said  to  a  friend  who  was 
just  engaged,  —  not  knowing  what  else  to  say.  Multos  et 
felices  !  —  a  coin  pretty  well  worn,  and  somewhat  wasted. 
One  may  say,  as  St.  Peter  in  Paradiso  says  of  Faith :  — 

"  —  assai  bene  e  trascorsa 
D'  esta  moneta  gia  la  lega  e  '1  peso." 

And  I  reply,  like  Dante,  — 

"  —  1'  ho  si  lucida  e  si  tonda 
Che  nel  suo  conio  nulla  mi  s'  inforsa." 

And  such  I  send  it  to  you.     Unluckily  no  unsentimental 
grocer  will  receive  it. 


200  LETTERS.  [1872. 

Carl  Schurz  came  to  see  me  yesterday,  and  stayed  to 
dinner,  lie  said  a  good  deal  about  Sunnier,  and  thinks 
he  feels  keenly  the  action  of  the  Massachusetts  Legisla 
ture.1  Well  lie  may  ;  for  it  was  vindictive  and  brutal. 
Schurz  thinks  that  Sumner's  health  is  in  a  perilous  condi 
tion,  and  regrets  that  he  brought  forward  his  Battle-Hag 
resolution  just  now,  when  not  well  enough  to  support  it. 
The  subject,  he  thinks,  is  sure  to  be  called  up  immediately 
after  the  holidays.  Sumner  is  writing  a  speech  to  sustain 
his  motion,  and  Schurz  offers  to  read  it  for  him  and  fight 
the  battle  sure  to  follow.  Once  more,  multos  et  f dices  ! 

To  G.  W.  Greene,. 

December  28,  1872. 

For  two  days  past  I  have  had  trouble  in  my  left  eye, — 
a  kind  of  network  before  it,  or,  as  Dr.  Johnson  might  say, 
"  something  reticulated  or  decussated  at  equal  distances, 
with  interstices  between  the  intersections  ; "  2  moreover,  a 
great  display  of  fireworks,  sparks,  and  shooting-stars, 

"  Quante  il  villan  .  .  . 
Vede  lucciole  giu  per  la  vallea." 

This  is  by  no  means  pleasant ;  but  it  shall  not  prevent  me 
from  thanking  you  for  your  letter. 

I  rejoice  that  you  agree  with  me  about  Sumner's  motion 
on  the  Battle-Hags.  I  shall  let  him  know  what  you 

1  Mr.  Sumner  had  introduced  in  the  United  States  Senate  a  reso 
lution  providing  that  for  the  sake  of  "national  unity  and  good- will," 
and  in  accordance  with  the  usage  of  civilized  nations,  "  the  names  of 
battles  with  fellow-citizens  [in  the  recent  Civil  War]  should  not  he 
placed  upon  the  regimental  colors"  of  the  National  Army.     His 
position  was  misrepresented,  and  condemned  in  resolutions  of  the 
Massachusetts  Legislature.     These  were  subsequently  rescinded,  just 
before  Mr.  Sumner's  death,  in  1874. 

2  This  is  the  definition  of  "  network  "  given  in  Johnson'.-;  Dic 
tionary. 


1872.]  JOURNAL   AND  LETTERS.  201 

think  of  it,  as  it  will  comfort  him,  and  you  have  not  time 
to  write  to  him  just  now,  I  suppose.  I  saw  the  account 
of  Putnam's  death  in  the  paper,  but  said  nothing  about  it 
to  you,  not  wishing  to  come  with  black  sails,  and  thinking 
that  you  would  see  it  in  your  journal.  This  cold  weather 
is  very  disconsolate.  Sitting  at  dinner  yesterday,  I  thought 
of  you,  and  wished  we  were  both  at  Amalfi.  I  had  a 
vision  of  sunshine  and  a  sapphire  sea,  which  sent  the 
nimble  Mercury  up  many  rounds  of  his  ladder  in  the 
thermometer. 


30th.     Resumed  the  Wayside  Inn,  and  put  in  order  the 
Prelude  and  First  Tale  of  Part  Third. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 
1873-1874. 

January  1.  Dined  at  39  Beacon  Street.  How  the  old 
days  come  back  to  me;  terribly  distinct!  Every  corner 
of  the  house  has  its  memory. 

3d.  A  thaw  in  the  night.  At  four  o'clock,  drip,  drip, 
drip.  I  got  up  two  or  three  times,  and  finally  dressed 
myself  at  five ;  lighted  my  study -lamp,  and  strangely 
enough  some  passages  for  'Michael  Angelo  and  Titian' 
came  into  my  mind.  What  spirit  was  abroad  at  that 
hour  dictating  to  me  ? 

5th.  Look  into  Victor  Hugo's  Anne'e  Terrible.  It 
seems  to  me  violent  rather  than  forcible. 

16th.  Here  are  the  first  seven  lines  of  the  Iliad,  which 
I  have  put  into  hexameters,  —  though  with  no  intention 
of  going  farther:  — 

Sing,  O  Goddess,  the  wrath  of  Peleidean  Achilles, 

Baleful,  that  brought  disasters  uncounted  upon  the  Acbaians. 

Many  a  gallant  soul  of  heroes  flung  into  Hades, 

And  the  heroes  themselves  as  a  prey  to  the  dogs  and  to  all  the 

Fowls  of  the  air  ;  for  thus  the  will  of  Zeus  was  accomplished  ; 

From  the  time  when  first  in  wrangling  parted  asunder 

Atreus'  son,  the  monarch  of  men,  and  godlike  Achilles. 

21st.  I  have  now  three  tales  finished  of  the  Third  Part 
of  the  Wayside  Inn,  with  Prelude  and  Interludes. 

February  19.  This  morning  T  counted  the  letters  to  be 
answered  on  my  table.  They  are  fifty-two.  Thus  is  my 


1873.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  203 

life  riddled  to  pieces.  Nevertheless,  I  have  now  com 
pleted  six  tales  of  the  new  volume. 

27th.  My  sixty-sixth  birthday.  Finished  the  new 
volume  of  the  Wayside  Inn,1  and  close  the  book. 

April  3.  Translated  from  the  Spanish  of  Castillejo  the 
little  ditty,  Alguna  vez,  — 

"  Some  day,  some  day, 
0  troubled  breast, 
Shalt  thou  find  rest,"  etc. 

5th.     S.  Eliot's   lecture   on   European   Eevolutions   of 

'48  and  '49.     Mr.  S came  out  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 

Blackburn,  of  England.  He  gave  me  his  book,  Artists 
and  Arabs. 

To  Ferdinand  Freiligrath. 

April  5,  1873. 

I  am  deeply  touched  and  grieved  by  the  melancholy 
tidings  you  send  rne.a  These  are  the  sorrows  to  which  all 
others  are  as  nothing.  They  change  us.  We  can  never 
be  again  what  we  were  before,  though  we  may  seem  so  to 
the  eyes  of  others.  But  we  know  that  a  part  of  ourselves 
is  gone,  and  cannot  come  back  again.  I  will  not  attempt 
to  console  you, —  that  is  useless;  but  I  suffer  with  you, 
and  share  your  affliction. 

Mrs.  D and  her  daughters,  to  whom  you  have 

been  so  kind,  and  who  are  so  grateful  for  all  your  kind 
ness,  write  with  the  deepest  sympathy,  and  speak  of  your 
son  as  "  dear  Otto  Freiligrath."  I  never  saw  him ;  yet 
from  this  expression,  and  his  photograph,  and  his  brother 
Wolfgang,  I  have  a  picture  of  him  in  my  mind,  and  feel 
what  your  loss  must  be. 

All  this  will  not  comfort  you ;  but  I  know  you  will  be 
courageous,  and  bear  the  inevitable  with  resignation. 

1  It  was  begun  December  30.  2  Of  the  death  of  his  son. 


204  JOURNAL.  [1873. 

July  12.  Naliant.  I  had  a  dream  last  night  of  meet 
ing  Tennyson  at  a  hotel  in  some  Italian  town.  He  was 
elegantly  dressed,  and  had  the  easy  manners  of  a  man  of 
the  world.  He  said  he  was  going  to  the  opera.  While 
we  were  talking,  C.  came  in,  looking  like  a  German  boy 
of  fourteen. 

13 tli.  Dreamed  last  night  that  I  was  at  a  dinner-party 
at  Mr.  W—  — 's.  To  reach  the  dining-room  we  had  to 
pass  through  a  carpenter's  shop,  climb  out  of  a  window, 
and  go  over  a  roof.  Among  the  guests  was  the  Eev.  Mr. 
,  dressed  as  a  woman  in  white. 

14th.  Dreamed  last  night  that  I  \vas  talking  to  the 
Emperor  Napoleon,  who  asked  me  if  I  remembered  the 
portrait  which  the  Princess  Charlotte  —  his  cousin,  and 
wife  of  his  brother  Charles  —  drew  of  me  in  her  album  at 
Florence  in  1828. 

18th.  A  northeastern  storm.  A  pigeon  flew  into  my 
room  and  flapped  round  my  head,  then  perched  on  my 
shoulder,  then  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  where  it  sat  wink 
ing.  When  put  out  of  the  window  it  returned  again.  It 
is  the  lost  pet  of  somebody. 

September  17.     Eeturncd  from  Nahant. 

18th.  Mr.  Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  a  young  Califor- 
nian  poet,  called. 

25th.     Three  German  professors  called. 

28th.  Sunnier  at  dinner.  More  nervous  than  at  Na 
hant.  I  urge  him  not  to  lecture. 

29th.  A  call  from  four  Englishmen ;  [among  them] 
Mr.  Charles  Eead,  M.P.,  and  the  Dean  of  Canterbury. 

November  13.     Wrote  a  sonnet  on  Milton. 

15th.     Wrote  a  sonnet  on  Shakespeare. 

16th.     Wrote  a  sonnet  on  Chaucer. 


1873.]  LETTERS.  205 

From  Samuel  Ward. 

BREVOORT  HOUSE,  December  27,  1873. 

DEAREST  L.,  —  The  rain  that  fell  when  we  parted  yes 
terday  has  not  yet  dried  upon  your  steps,  which  I  have 
so  often  ascended  with  joy,  and  always  gone  down  with 
regret ;  and  here  is  "  Monsieur  Tonson  come  again." 

The  line  I  was  trying  to  recall  is  the  one  about  which 
Horace  Walpole  lost  a  bet  of  a  guinea  to  Pulteney  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  It  is :  — 

"  Nil  conscire  sibi ;  nulla  pallescere  culpa."  1 

Walpole  quoted  it  "  nullas  pallescere  culpoe ; "  Pulteney 
corrected  him,  won  the  wager,  and  the  identical  guinea  is 
in  the  family  of  the  winner. 

Your  lovely  poem  ['  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane ']  made 
music  all  night  in  the  car.  The  omission  of  those  dra 
matic  contrasts  which  render  the  Glocke  song  [Schiller's 
'Bell']  so  exciting,  makes  your  masterpiece  soothing  and 
tender,  almost  to  idyllism. 

T  cannot  tell  you  how  your  noble  devotion  to  poor 

has  warmed  my  heart.  But  for  my  physical  health,  which 
sustains  my  exertions,  I  should  be  as  wretched  as  he  is, 
without  a  tithe  of  the  merit  he  possesses  of  conscientious 
work. 

I  think  your  poem  will  make  people  better  and  happier, 
and  I  long  to  see  it  a  part  and  parcel  of  human  posses 
sions.  I  do  not  know  what  your  terms  are  with  the 
Atlantic ;  but  I  think  my  trotting  friend  Bonner,  of  the 
New  York  Ledger,  would  pay  two  guineas  a  line  for  it.  I 
make  the  suggestion  in  view  of  your  charities  and  the 
constant  demand  upon  your  purse. 

1  Horace,  Epistles  I.  i.  61. 


206  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

December  28,  1873. 

Accept,  I  beg  you,  my  best  thanks  for  your  kind  re 
membrance  at  Christmas,  and  the  gift  of  Keats's  photo 
graph.1  What  a  pathetic  face !  It  is  sad  to  see,  and  yet 
most  interesting.  Severn  I  saw  in  Eome  in  1869, — a 
prosperous  gentleman,  with  buff  waistcoat  and  bright 
buttons.  I  dare  say  you  knew  him,  —  perhaps  had  the 
picture  from  him. 

With  all  kinds  of  good  wishes  for  endless  Christmases 
and  New  Years. 

January  1,  1874.  The  New  Year's  greetings,  —  the 
flowers  and  other  presents.  —  Finish  the  scene, '  In  Fra 
Bastiano's  Garden,'  for  Michael  Angelo.  This  will  give 
variety.2 

3d.  Bought  the  beautiful  edition  of  Milton,  "  carefully 
printed  from  the  Author's  copies,"  by  Bickers  &  Son, 
1851. 

4th.  Fields  comes  out,  and  I  read  to  him  '  The  Hang 
ing  of  the  Crane.'  He  advises  not  to  publish  in  any 
periodical,  but  to  make  a  small  illustrated  volume  of  it. 

5th.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Boyesen  calls.  He  is  just 
returned  from  Europe,  and  is  hurrying  to  his  professorship 
at  Cornell.  He  reports  Hans  Christian  Andersen  as  very 
ill. 

6th.  Wrote  '  In  the  Coliseum,'  —  a  scene  for  Angelo. 
Eead  in  the  Souvenirs  of  Mme.  Vige*e  le  Brun,  —  a  light, 
lively  book  by  this  beautiful  artist. 

7th.  T.  and  N.  A.  at  dinner,  at  which  was  served  a 
Stilton  cheese  sent  from  Clifton,  England. 

1  A  copy  of  a  head  by  Severn,  Keats's  friend. 
3  This  scene  was  afterward  rejected  as  "jarring  with  the  tone  of 
the  poem."     It  introduced  Rabelais. 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  207 

9th.  Cut  down  a  great  elm-tree  at  the  carriage-gate, 
which  seemed  dangerous,  and  threatened  to  fall  into  the 
street.  It  was  a  pang  to  me. 

14th.     Wrote  '  Michael  Angelo  and  Titian.' 

16th.  Finished  reading  the  Divina  Commedia  with  E. 
Worked  a  little  on  the  Monologues  of  Michael  Angelo,  and 
translated  his  sonnet  on  the  death  of  Vittoria  Colonna. 

20th.  The  days  are  miserably  like  each  other  when 
one  is  shut  up  in  the  house.  Eead  Hertz,  the  Danish 
poet's  drama  of  Svend  Dyring's  Huns,  which  is  very  good. 

22d.  To-day  I  have  been  reading  Eabelais,  which,  I 
confess,  wearies  me. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  29,  1874. 

I  have  submitted  the  '  Hanging  of  the  Crane '  to  the 
microscopic  eye  of  J.  0.  The  result  is,  that  "  the  sound 
of  se  —  as  in  scene,  celestial,  Ceylon,  and  so  forth  —  occurs 
thirty-two  times,"  so  that  the  production  may  be  called 

"  II  bel  poema  la  dove  il  si  suona." 

Since  you  were  here  I  have  dined  only  once  a  week ;  all 
the  rest  is  bread  and  milk,  —  a  diet  on  which  I  thrive  as 
if  I  were  in  my  second  childhood.  I  make  the  same 
apology  for  it  that  Michael  Angelo  did  for  writing  sonnets 
in  his  old  age :  "  Messer  Giorgio,  amico  caro,  voi  direte  ben 
ch'  io  sia  vecchio  e  pazzo  a  voler  far  sonetti ;  ma  poiche 
molti  dicono  ch'  io  son  rimbambito,  ho  voluto  far  1'  uficio 
mio."  This  reminds  me  that  I  have  added  a  new  scene  to 
the  Angelo,  —  namely,  '  Messer  Michele  in  the  Street  with 
Bindo  Altoviti,'  —  and  have  interspersed  several  sonnets  of 
M.  A.  in  other  parts,  which  I  think  has  a  good  effect.1 

1  These  were  afterward  omitted.  The  quotation  from  Michael 
Angelo  is  :  "  Master  George,  dear  friend,  you  may  well  say  that  I  am 


208  JOURNAL.  [1874. 

30th.  Translated  another  sonnet  of  M.  A.  Looked 
over  Duparc's  very  interesting  sketch  of  Eegnault,  the 
young  French  painter  killed  in  the  siege  of  Paris  in  1871, 
"  victime  de  la  derniere  heure  et  du  dernier  combat." 

February  1.  Comfortably  indoors,  reading  Kegnault's 
Correspondence,  —  a  fiery  genius,  who  did  great  things  in 
painting,  and  promised  greater. 

6th.  Lunched  in  town  to  meet  Miss  L ,  an  Eng 
lish  lady  devoted  to  hospitals.  She  is  the  most  attractive 
philanthropist  I  ever  met.  In  the  evening  completed  the 
scene  in  Angelo  in  which  he  takes  Vittoria's  portrait.  The 
work  is  now  finished,  saving  always  revision.  I  do  not 
see  what  other  scene  can  be  added.1 

17th.     Called  upon  Charles  Kingsley  and  his  daughter. 

19th.     The  Kingsleys  dined  with  us. 

I  have  forgotten  to  record  Mr.  Gill's  elegant  banquet  to 
Wilkie  Collins  at  the  St.  James  Hotel. 

20th.  Dined  with  Mr.  A in  a  new  and  elegant 

house  in  Marlborough  Street.  Young  people,  who  gave  an 
old  dinner-party.  None  of  the  guests  were  under  sixty. 
Looking  down  the  table  was  like  a  distant  view  of  the 
Alps  from  the  Jura. 

21st.     Wilkie  Collins  and  T.  dined  with  us. 

22d.  Sam  Ward  came  to  lunch.  He  has  negotiated 
with  Bonner  for  the  '  Hanging  of  the  Crane  '  [for  publica 
tion  in  the  Xew  York  Ledger].  I  am  to  have  three  thou 
sand  dollars.  It  is  a  great  sum.  It  was  not  my  asking, 
but  his  offer. 

old  and  foolish  to  wish  to  make  sonnets  ;  Tint  since  so  many  people 
are  saying  that  I  am  in  my  second  childhood,  I  have  chosen  to  fulfil 
my  office." 

1  Michael  Angelo  was  begun  on  the  6th  of  March,  1872.  "  I  want 
it,"  he  wrote,  "  for  a  long  and  delightful  occupation."  On  the  18th 
of  May  in  that  year  he  says  :  "  The  poem  in  its  first  form  is  com 
plete."  But  he  continued  to  add  new  scenes  from  time  to  time.  It 
was  not  published  till  after  his  death. 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  209 

24th.  Prove  to  town  with  my  dear  old  friend  Greene, 
who  goes  back  to  East  Greenwich  after  a  short  visit.  I 
ain  always  glad  when  he  conies,  and  sorry  when  he  goes. 
In  the  afternoon  Miss  B called  with  a  Turk. 

27th.  My  sixty-seventh  birthday.  These  milestones 
are  so  many  that  they  begin  to  look  like  a  graveyard. 

28th.  Club  dinner  at  Parker's.  On  my  right  I  had 
Wilkie  Collins,  on  my  left  the  elder  Dana,  —  the  oldest 
of  the  American  poets.1 

March  1.  Keceived  two  letters  to-day,  one  from  New 
York,  one  from  Yonkers  on  the  Hudson,  each  beginning, 
"  Will  you  please  tell  me  who  was  Evangeline,  and  what 
country  did  she  belong  to ;  also  the  place  of  her  birth." 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  3,  1874. 

I  enclose  you  as  pretty  a  piece  of  vituperation  as  one 
sees  in  a  twelvemonth.  If  I  had  not  ceased  to  wonder  at 
anything  in  the  newspapers,  I  should  wonder  that  such 
astounding  language  as  this  should  have  found  its  way 
into  the  columns  of  the  Tribune.  I  grieve  over  the  bad 
news  which  your  letter  brings  me.  I  know  how  you 
suffer  when  your  children  are  ill.  I  trust,  however,  to 
hear  soon  that  all  cause  of  anxiety  has  passed  away.  I 
have  written  the  new  scene  that  you  suggested  for  An- 
gelo.  I  am  not  dissatisfied  with  it,  and  yet  do  not  want 
to  add  it.2  It  seems  to  me  better  to  leave  the  close  a  little 
vague,  than  to  give  a  tragic  ending,  —  though  that  may 
be  the  proper  finis  of  the  book. 

What  a  debilitating  day  this  has  been!  It  is  enough 
to  take  away  the  strength  of  a  whole  family  of  athletes. 

1  Then  eighty-six  years  old.       He  died  in  1879. 

2  The  new  scene  was  Angelo's  Death,  and  was  afterward  rejected. 

14 


210  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

Here  is  a  gloomy  [newspaper]  paragraph  for  you.  See 
what  barbarism  may  exist  in  the  midst  of  culture  and 
civilization !  "  The  last  of  the  Paddock  elms  fell  at  a 
quarter  past  nine  o'clock  yesterday  morning,  and  there  are 
now  no  signs  left  of  the  old  trees,  except  the  smoothly  cut 
stumps,  which  are  on  a  level  with  the  sidewalk." 1  Pad 
dock,  who  planted  these  elms,  was  a  Tory  in  the  days  of 
the  Revolution.  Could  that  have  had  anything  to  do 
with  it?  I  know  not. 


llth.  Sad  news  from  Washington,  —  of  Sumner's 
sudden  illness  and  death:  seized  at  ten  last  night  with 
angina  pectoris ;  dead  to-day  at  three ! 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  11,  1874. 

The  fatal  news  has  come  at  last.  You  doubtless  saw, 
in  your  morning  paper,  the  mention  of  Sumner's  attack 
last  night.  I  had  a  telegram  from  Sam  Ward,  saying  he 
could  not  live  through  the  day ;  and  now  comes  another 
with  the  words :  "  Charles  Sumner  is  dead." 

I  thought  I  was  prepared  by  his  frequent  attacks  for 
this  final  one ;  but  I  was  not.  It  is  terribly  sudden  and 
unexpected  to  me,  as  it  will  be  to  you.  I  cannot  write 
more. 


16th.  Sumner's  funeral.  A  bright  morning.  I  heard 
the  first  bluebirds  singing. 

1  The  Paddock  elms  were  ancient  English  elms  in  front  of  the 
Granary  Burying-ground  in  Tremont  Street,  whose  pleasant  green 
ness  and  shade  were  long  missed.  They  were  cut  down  by  the  city 
authorities. 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  211 

To  J.  B.  Everhart. 

March  31,  1874. 

Many  thanks  for  your  beautiful  poem,  —  beautiful  not 
withstanding  its  subject,  for  which  I  have  no  sympathy. 
I  am  so  little  of  a  sportsman  that  I  rank  fox-hunting  with 
bull-fighting,  and  think  them  equally  detestable.  You 
will  perhaps  smile  at  this;  but  I  never  lose  an  opportunity 
of  entering  my  protest  against  all  pleasures  that  spring 
from  the  pain  of  dumb  animals. 

But  I  meant  to  thank  you,  not  to  preach  to  you ;  and 
again  beg  you  to  accept  my  thanks  for  your  kindness  in 
sending  me  your  book. 


April  2.  I  have  been  trying  to  write  something  about 
Sumner,  but  to  little  purpose.  I  cannot  collect  my 
faculties.1 

15th.  Received  a  Portuguese  translation  of  'Evange- 
line '  by  Franklin  Doria,  published  at  Eio  de  Janeiro, 
1874. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  18,  1874. 

Who  shall  write  the  Life  of  Sumner?2  That  is  the 
question  that  perplexes  me.  All  his  papers  have  arrived, 
and  we  have  a  room  devoted  to  them  in  Pemberton 
Square.  I  am  going  in  on  Monday  to  examine  them.  I 
dread  it,  but  it  must  be  done.  It  seems  strange  that  I 
must  delegate  to  another  the  task  of  writing  his  life ;  but 
I  feel  that  I  cannot  do  it.  Ah,  if  you  were  only  well 

1  The  first  draft  of  the  poem  'Charles  Sumner'  is  dated  March 
30.     It  was  printed  in  the  volume  with  '  The  Masque  of  Pandora.' 

2  It  was  afterward  written,  as  is  well  known,   by  Mr.  E.  L. 
Pierce. 


212  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

enough  for  the  work !  Motley,  too,  is  incapacitated  by 
ill-health,  and  has  his  own  historic  projects.  Meanwhile 
we  shall  have  the  materials  arranged,  and  ready  for  use. 


May  13.  The  great  tragedian  Salvini  and  his  brother, 
with  Mme.  Eudersdorff,  dined  with  us.  After  dinner 
Salvini  read  some  scenes  from  Alfieri's  Saul,  —  to  the  de 
light  of  us  all,  especially  of  Greene,  who  was  here  and 
heard  one  of  his  favorite  Italian  authors  beautifully 
interpreted. 

From  J.  L.  Motley. 

HOTEL  BRISTOL,  PARIS,  May  16,  1874. 
MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  —  Your  very  kind  letter  of 
April  23d  reached  me  on  the  day  before  we  left  Cannes. 
It  was  impossible  for  me,  therefore,  to  reply  sooner.  Be 
lieve  me  that  I  am  very  deeply  touched  by  your  thinking 
of  me  on  this  sad  occasion  of  our  dear  Sumner's  death. 
That  I  should  have  been  thought  worthy  by  you  and  your 
co-trustees  of  his  literary  estate  to  write  his  Life,  I  regard 
as  the  highest  honor  that  could  be  conferred  on  me.  But 
having  said  this,  I  can  only  add  that  I  am,  alas !  utterly 
incompetent  to  the  task.  The  strange  and  sudden  seizure 
which  befell  me  at  the  end  of  last  July  has,  I  fear,  put  an 
end  to  my  working  power ;  at  any  rate,  I  have  gained  so 
little  by  my  search  for  health  and  strength  at  Cannes  this 
winter  that  it  would  be  a  fraud  on  my  part  to  conceal 
from  you  the  hopelessness  of  my  undertaking  to  perform 
so  noble  a  service.  It  is  with  great  difficulty  that  I  am 
writing  this  letter.  I  have  but  little  use  of  my  right  hand 
and  arm;  and  to  employ  them  for  a  few  minutes  only 
exhausts  my  strength  for  the  day.  Pardon  this  egotism, 
which  perhaps  was  necessary  in  order  to  show  that  it  was 
not  the  will,  but  the  power  to  comply  with  your  request, 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  213 

that  is  wanting.  It  is,  indeed,  a  most  bitter  disappoint 
ment  to  me.  Had  I  been  able,  however  inadequately,  to 
do  this  work,  it  would  have  been  a  high  gratification  as 
well  as  consolation  to  me  in  the  grief  which  I  feel  for  his 
loss,  —  if  1  have  a  right  to  speak  of  my  personal  share  in  a 
sorrow  which  is  a  national,  and  even  wider  than  a  national, 
one.  The  value  to  the  country  of  so  pure  and  noble  a 
life,  and  of  such  magnificent  and  long-sustained  labor  to 

O  O 

such  lofty  ends,  can  scarcely  be  exaggerated.     The  nation 
is  honored  which  has  given  birth  to  such  a  man  and  kept 
him  in  the  public  councils  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
Most  sincerely  and  affectionately  your  friend, 

J.  L.  MOTLEY. 

29th.  A  lovely  morning,  just  suited  to  the  work  I  am 
doing;  that  is,  selecting  from  various  writers  poems  of 
places,  to  make  a  kind  of  poetic  guide-book. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  31,  1874. 

I  have  been  wanting  to  write  to  you  for  some  time,  but 

have  not  found  the  happy  moment.     Between and 

,  the  upper  and  nether  millstones,  I  have  been  ground 

to  powder.  Moreover,  I  have  given  the  bright  mornings 
to  the  collection  of  Poems  of  Places,  of  which  I  once 
spoke  to  you  ;  and  a  pleasant  occupation  it  is,  —  travelling 
in  one's  easy-chair,  and  making  one's  own  poetic  guide 
book.  It  is  amazing  what  an  amount  of  second  and  third 
rate  poetry  there  is  in  the  world.  It  would  be  more 
amazing  if  it  were  all  first  rate! 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  July  23,  1874. 

In  a  late  number  of  the  Revue,  des  Deux  Mondes  Laugel 
has  a  very  good  article  on  Sumner,  —  have  you  seen  it  ? 


214  LETTERS.  [1874. 

You  will  hardly  be  satisfied  with  it,  perhaps,  when  you 
come  to  the  quarrel  with  the  President  [Grant],  where  he 
tries  to  hold  the  historic  scales  very  evenly,  but  does  not 
give  weight  enough  to  the  provocation.  I  am  glad  you 
are  getting  steadily  on  with  your  History.  I  want  that 
stone  of  Sisyphus  rolled  fairly  over  the  hill,  and  thunder 
ing  down  the  other  side. 

I  have  been  amusing  myself  with  reading  the  Spectator. 
How  musical  and  sweet  Addison  is !  Steele  is  a  little 
more  sinewy  in  style,  but  far  less  charming.  Good  read 
ing,  this,  for  a  summer's  day  by  the  seaside,  or  a  winter's 
day  by  the  fireside.  I  find  the  blaze  and  glare  of  sun 
shine  here  not  very  good  for  the  eyes.  This  I  make  an 
excuse  for  being  idle.  Professor  Brunetta,  of  Verona, 
wishes  to  make  an  interlinear  translation  of  '  Evangeline,' 
to  be  used  as  a  school-book. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  17,  1874. 

What  cheer  ?  Here  I  am  once  more  in  the  Craigie,  — 
comparatively  speaking,  a  happy  man.  But  so  many 
things  lie  in  wait  for  me  that  I  have  hardly  time  to  write 
you  these  lines ;  in  fact,  I  had  written  only  two  of  them 
last  evening,  when  Nichols  arid  Owen  appeared  with  the 
Sumner  proof-sheets,1  and  we  worked  away  at  them  till 
half-past  ten. 

If,  in  your  reading,  you  find  any  poems  of  places,  do 
not  fail  to  make  a  note  of  them  for  me.  The,  printers  are 
just  beginning  '  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane.'  Some  of  the 
illustrations  [by  Mary  Hallock]  are  charming ;  it  will  be 
a  pretty  picture-book.  The  poem  will  be  read  by  Mr. 
Woollett  on  the  1st  of  October  in  the  Bay  State  Course 
of  Lectures,  and  published  on  the  15th  by  Osgood  &  Co. 

1  The  proof-sheets  of  the  collected  Speeches,  or  Works,  of  Mr. 
Sumner. 


1874.]  LETTERS.  215 

This  is  all  the  news  I  have  to  tell  you,  except  that 
Sumner's  tenth  volume  is  out.  It  closes  with  the  speech 
on  Art  in  the  National  Capitol.  The  last  sentence  is 
that  pungent  protest  of  Powers  against  giving  great 
national  works  to  mere  beginners. 


From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

HOTEL  DU  JARDIN,  PARIS,  September,  1874. 

DEAR  HENRY,  —  Here  am  I  again  at  the  good  little 
hotel  we  liked  so  well  before.  Our  young  couple  are  no 
longer  here,  —  new  people  are  in  their  place ;  but  the 
house  is  as  neat  and  well  kept  as  before.  Only  you  and 
the  girls  are  missing.  How  I  wish  you  were  all  here  to 
see  the  new  Paris  since  the  war,  and  to  enjoy  the  pictures 
and  the  lovely  Tuileries  garden  !  How  pleasant  it  is  to 
take  one's  nice  bread  and  butter  and  cafe  au  lait,  and  an 
omelette  such  as  only  Paris  prepares,  and  then  go  [into 
the  garden]  and  read  one's  Galignani  under  the  trees,  with 
the  children  and  birds  all  about,  and  the  same  old  woman 
coming  for  her  sous!  And  the  weather  is  so  soft  and 
bright,  and  light  with  the  same  legerete  the  people  have, 
and  which  is  perhaps  the  best  thing  about  Paris. 

I  called,  and  found  Marmier  in.  He  was  enchanted; 
and  instantly  presented  me  with  a  fine  engraving  and 
Sdgur's  work  on  1812,  and  tore  the  raap  for  me  out  of  his 
Swiss  Guide,  thinking  it  better  than  Baedeker's.  The 
Bretonne  showed  her  teefh  and  her  earrings,  and  inquired 
tenderly  after  you.  I  tried  coffee  and  kirsch,  and  they 
had  the  good  old  taste.  Last  evening  he  took  me  to  see 
his  inseparable  brave,  old  M.  Thiers.  The  old  gentleman 
had  been  twenty -four  hours  the  day  before  coming  in  the 
train;  and  arriving  at  6  A.  M.,  sent  at  once  for  Marmier, 
who  found  him  as  chipper  as  a  bird.  I  was  most  kindly 
received,  and  stayed  late,  talking  about  everything,  and 


216  LETTERS.  [1874. 

he  making  many  acute  remarks.  He  spoke  with  regard 
of  Sumner  and  Seward ;  and  I  ventured  to  describe  the 
dinner  with  Sumner,  and  touched  on  Seward's  mistake  in 
saying  that  Mme.  Thiers  spoke  English..  "And  so  she 
does,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  do  not."  He  is  much  pleased  with 
the  compliments  he  gets  from  America,  and  talked  much 
about  us.  There  were  only  a  few  present,  so  we  two  did 
all  the  talking.  A  lady,  one  of  the  household,  is  a  great 
admirer  of  yours,  and  asked  after  you  with  interest. 
Thiers  has  taken  a  handsome  house,  45  Faubourg  St.- 
Honore'. 

I  am  glad  that  C.  enjoyed  his  cruise  in  the  "  Alice."  I 
wish  I  had  been  of  the  party.  Our  yachting  is  much 
nicer  than  the  European,  and  I  have  nothing  to  envy 
them.  I  wonder  the  girls  don't  write,  and  yet  so  fond  of 
it ;  but  the  old  are  neglected  for  the  young. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

T.  G-.  APPLETON. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

CADENABBIA  ! !  October  3,  1874. 

DEAR  HENRY,  —  Does  not  the  very  name  look  pretty  ? 
Yes,  there  is  no  mistake,  it  is  lovely ;  and  though  now 
the  melancholy  days  are  come,  and  I  see  its  beauties 
through  rain  like  some  lovely  widow  through  her  tears, 
the  rain  may  veil  but  cannot  spoil  them.  We  have  had 
this  summer  faultless  weather;  and  now  I  fear  that  Aqua 
rius  is  making  up  his  average,  and  it  may  hold  a  month. 
But  in  a  better  sense  I  may  say,  "  it  never  rains  but  it 
pours  ;  "  for  I  had  all  my  letters  sent  here.  And  what  a 
shower  of  them  I  found !  I  can  only  fire  now  one  gun  for 
a  broadside.  So  I  send  this  to  you,  to  parcel  with  affec 
tion  and  remembrance  among  all.  I  have  letters  from  all 
but  A.,  and  she  must  not  be  forgotten  for  that.  The  dar 
lings,  how  I  love  them  all !  and  my  heart  cries  out  for 


1874.]  LETTERS.  217 

them  as  do  their  letters  for  me.  The  yearning  is  but 
accumulating  fondness,  and  I  mean  to  love  them  more 
than  ever  when  I  come  back.  "  On  recule  pour  mieux 
aimer."  And  when  will  that  be  ?  I  am  now  hunting  for 
a  companion  to  go  to  Egypt  with  me,  and  he  does  not 
turn  up.  Dear,  good  Gay  has  had  his  cake  and  eaten  it, 

and  he  can't  go.     and are  to  go ;  but  one  is  too 

cross,  arid  the  other  too  noisy,  for  me.  So  if  I  get  nobody, 
—  and  my  last  chance  will  be  in  Paris,  —  I  may  bolt,  and 
be  [in  Boston]  before  you  can  say  "  Jack  Robinson."  I  do 
not  promise,  but  it  may  be  yet.  I  ain  never  fonder  of 
Boston  than  when  I  am  farthest  from  it,  —  which  shows 
what  a  pull  it  has.  I  miss  the  whip  in  the  sky,  as  the 
liberated  West  India  blacks  did,  who  had,  for  form's  sake, 
a  slave-whip  carried  over  them  to  remind  them  of  the  good 
old  times.  I  miss  you  all  here,  as  you  can  imagine.  Yon 
der  is  our  old  balcony  and  its  nest  of  rooms;  the  very 
boatmen  are  the  same,  and  the  olive-complexioned  olive- 
wood  women,  and  the  pillared  trees  which  Ernest  painted 
so  well,  —  and  all  these  but  make  me  miss  my  old  party 
the  more.  They  seem  more  present  than  the  one  I  now 
have ;  they  belong  more  to  Cadenabbia,  and  loved  it  first. 

And  yet  my  present  party  is  a  success.    ,  who  travels 

in  search  of  a  digestion,  is  always  nice  and  clever,  —  rather 
prone  to  criticism,  perhaps,  and  not  with  that  big  exclama 
tion  mark  behind  her  eyes  which  American  girls  have ; 

and  Mile.  C is  very  practised  and  wise  as  a  traveller, 

and  pleasant  in  every  way.    To  them  we  have  added  Miss 

H ,  who  is  brave  and  bright,  a  good  sketch er,  and  even 

a  good  climber,  going  up  the  Bel  Alp  and  everywhere. 
She  was  never  before  in  Italy,  and  is  wild  about  it. 

Yesterday  we  took  our  first  row,  —  we  arrived  only  the 
day  before,  —  to  Bellagio.  There  is  a  new  hotel  there  ; 
great  bustle,  —  the  carriages  flying  about  (we  have  no  car 
riages  at  Cadenabbia),  and  great  show  and  bother,  which 


218  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

made  us  the  more  prefer  Cadenabbia.  Our  boatman  was 
Acliille,  and  he  grinned  the  old  Como  grin  through  his 
five-days'  beard.  On  Sunday,  he  says,  he  shaves  for  a 
penny ;  I  think  he  cheats  his  barber.  We  inquired  of 
him  about  the  agoni  and  the  fish-nets  and  the  little  bells, 
and  found  they  were  all  right.  The  turn  we  took  round 
the  corner  toward  Lecco  made  me  remember  the  lovely 
threatening  rocks  and  their  wealth  of  shrubbery.  Putting 
back  as  we  reached  Villa  Giulia,  we  found  that  a  Viennese 
had  bought  it  who  would  not  let  any  one  see  it;  and 
Achille  denounced  the  Tedesco  with  the  traditionary  hatred 
of  the  Austrian.  To-day  is  sheeted  with  rain,  —  soothing 
and  quiet  after  so  much  sun.  The  hotel  is  much  improved ; 
what  was  the  dining-room  is  now  a  noble  vestibule,  mar 
ble  steps,  with  flowers  rising  from  the  other  end.  It  is 
the  perfection  of  comfort,  without  bother  or  display.  But 
the  miracle  of  hotels  is  at  Varese,  not  far  off.  There  we 
tarried  for  three  days,  and  E.  wanted  to  forever.  It  was 
princely,  from  the  impressively  majestic  landlord  to  the 
clothes-brush,  which  seemed  made  only  for  royal  shoulders. 
There  are  some  seven  salons  en  suite,  one  lovelier  than 
the  other ;  and  over  a  vast  garden  the  eye  runs  down  to 
the  Lago  di  Varese  and  the  mountains  beyond.  If  Mary 
Anne  Starke  could  revisit  the  Italy  she  once  wrote  about, 
surely  she  would  not  recognize  it. 

I  saw  [in  the  papers]  the  death  of  Wyman,1  and  felt  it 
much  ;  he  was  a  man  of  real  value. 
Affectionately, 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 

October  25.  Professor  Bonamy  Price,  of  Oxford,  at 
dinner,  —  a  man  of  sixty,  and  a  man  of  a  thousand ; 
bright  and  elastic. 

1  Jeffries  Wyman,  the  anatomist,  Curator  of  the  Peabody  Museum 
of  Archaeology  at  Harvard  University. 


1874.]  LETTERS.  219 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  26,  1874. 

I  wish  you  could  have  been  here  for  the  last  few  days. 
I  have  had  some  curious  experiences  in  national  character. 
On  Saturday  came  an  English  gentleman  with  a  letter  of 
introduction,  and  stayed  to  dinner.  He  was  taciturn,  re 
served,  fastidious,  and  appeared  to  take  little  pleasure  in 
anything.  He  seemed  to  have  no  power  of  enjoyment. 
On  Sunday  came  another  Englishman  to  dine ;  but  of  a 
very  different  type,  —  expansive,  hilarious,  talking  inces 
santly,  laughing  loud  and  long ;  pleased  with  everything. 
These  were  the  two  opposite  poles  of  English  character 
and  manners. 

This  afternoon  came  Parkman,  asking  for  your  address, 
in  order  to  send  you  his  book,  The  Old  Kdginie  in  Canada. 
I  have  just  been  reading  Tasso's  Aminta  with  E.,  who  is 
delighted  with  it.  I  think  of  taking  up,  now,  the  Pastor 
Fido  of  Guarini,  —  unless  you  can  suggest  something 
better. 

Pain  never  kills  any  one,  but  is  a  most  uncomfortable 
bedfellow.  But  that,  I  trust,  will  soon  be  over,  and  you 
will  enter  that  convalescent  state  which  is  so  pleasant. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  29,  1874. 

I  received  this  evening  your  wife's  letter,  and  was  de 
bating  whether  I  should  answer  it  at  once,  or  finish  first  a 
poem  on  the  Terra  di  Lavoro  ['  Monte  Cassino '] ;  and  while 
I  was  debating,  a  felicitous  termination  of  the  poem  slid 
into  my  mind,  and  left  me  free  to  write  to  you  without 
hindrance. 

I  know  how  a  man  feels  with  toothache,  with  rheuma 
tism  in  the  back,  with  neuralgia  in  the  chest ;  but  how  he 
feels  with  his  collar-bone  broken,  is  to  me  a  merciful  mys- 


220  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

tery,  which  I  hope  I  shall  never  comprehend.  I  am  afraid 
that  with  all  your  morphine  you  will  be  in  such  a  dreamy 
state  that  letters  and  newspapers  will  have  a  vague  and 
far-off  interest  for  you.  Nevertheless,  I  write  this,  and 
send  you  a  paper,  in  which  a  poor,  abused  author  makes 
his  melancholy  complaint.  He  quotes  all  the  unhand 
some  epithets  that  have  been  applied  to  him ;  and  if  you 
are  "  sitting  clothed  and  in  your  right  mind,"  you  will  be 
interested  in  his  story.  But  why  do  I  write  in  this  light 
vein  while  I  am  suffering  with  you,  and  feeling  deeply 
your  distress  ?  I  know  not,  unless  it  be  that  the  ferment 
of  the  mind  sends  up  bubbles  to  the  surface.  You,  who 
know  my  rather  effervescent  nature,  will  not  be  pained  by 
it,  though  it  is  like  laughing  in  church.  But  get  well  as 
soon  as  you  can,  and  let  me  hear  good  news  of  you. 


31st.  Lord  Dufferin  dined  with  me  at  the  Saturday 
Club. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  31,  1874. 

I  am  troubled  to  hear  that  you  do  not  sleep.  Better  to 
sleep  among  the  poppies  than  not  to  sleep  at  all,  —  a  dis 
agreeable  alternative.  But  when  your  shoulder  is  once 
strong  again,  you  can  more  easily  give  up  the  narcotic. 

I  had  a  call  to-day  from  Miles  Standish,  —  not  the  old 
hero,  but  one  of  his  descendants  ;  a  tall,  handsome  youth 
from  New  York,  who  had  been  last  evening  at  the  Music 
Hall  to  hear  Mr.  Woollett  recite  the  '  Courtship '  of  his 
ancestor.  This  afternoon  Lord  Dufferin  dined  with  me  at 
the  Club.  He  is  a  charming  person,  and  his  wife  more 
charming  still.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  them.  Old 
Mr.  Dana  was  there,  eighty-six  years  old,  and  apparently 
good  for  ten  years  more,  —  though  that  is  saying  a  great 
deal.  But  I  cannot  keep  my  thoughts  from  you.  Are 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  221 

physicians  powerless  to  bring  help  ?  In  one  of  Dr. 
Holraes's  Essays,  I  find  the  enclosed  prescription,  which 
will  amuse  you. 

November  2.     Began  reading  Petrarca  with  Edith. 

5th.  Harvard  Association  Concert.  The  finest  pieces 
were  Chopin's  Concerto  in  E  minor  and  Beethoven's 
Seventh  Symphony. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  5,  1874. 

I  have  been  in  town  all  day  on  business  of  various 
kinds,  and  have  come  home  very  tired,  —  or,  as  an  English 
man  called  it,  the  other  day,  "  very  tarred."  At  first,  I 
did  not  know  what  he  meant ;  but  when  he  used  the  ex 
pression  a  second  time,  it  dawned  upon  me.  Among  other 
things,  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Hamilton's  portrait  of  Agassiz. 
She  inquired  particularly  after  you,  and  was  very  sorry 
to  hear  of  your  accident.  In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  a 
concert,  and  had  the  inevitable  cold  draught  let  in  upon 
me  before  it  was  over,  spoiling  the  effect  of  the  beautiful 
Allegro  of  Beethoven's  Seventh  Symphony.  And,  finally, 
here  I  am,  where  I  have  been  wanting  to  be  all  day  long. 
I  really  believe  it  will  end  in  my  never  going  out  of  sight 
of  my  own  chimney-pots. 

And  now,  good-night ;  and  may  the  good  physician 
Sleep  comfort  and  console  you.  But  such  a  sunrise  as 
I  saw  two  days  ago  was  better  than  sleep  to  me ! 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  10,  1874. 

Howells  and  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Mead,  the  sculptor, 
have  been  dining  with  me  to-day.  After  dinner  we  went 
to  a  neighbor's  to  hear  Mr.  James  read  an  Essay  on  Car- 


222  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

lyle.1  And  now,  at  eleven  o'clock,  I  am  waiting  for  some 
people  in  the  library  to  go  home,  that  I  may  go  to  bed, 
where  I  much  desire  to  be.  1  only  wish  that  you  could 
sleep  half  as  soundly  as  I  do. 

Last  evening  I  wrote  a  sonnet  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio  of 
Florence,  which  I  think  you  will  like.  You  are  one  of  the 
few  who  know  what  a  sonnet  is.  I  wrote  last  summer  a 
good  many  ;  among  them,  a  series  of  five  entitled,  '  Three 
Friends  of  Mine,'  meaning  Felton,  Agassiz,  and  Sumner,  — 
my  small  tribute  to  their  memory.  In  the  Atlantic  for 
January  will  be  the  poem  on  Sumner  I  read  to  you  when 
you  were  last  here.  Pardon  me  for  thinking  that  such 
small  items  will  amuse  you. 


14th.  My  classmate  Benson  writes  urging  me  to  pre 
pare  a  poem  for  the  class-meeting  at  next  Commencement, 
—  our  fiftieth  anniversary.  Professor  Ignaz  Zingarle  writes 
to  ask  that  I  will  get  up  a  subscription  here  to  aid  in 
erecting  a  statue  of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  at  Botzen, 
in  the  Tyrol.  Two  equally  difficult  things  to  do. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  14,  1874. 

When  one  is  hungry,  and  waiting  for  dinner,  there  is  no 
better  way  of  shortening  the  time  than  by  writing  letters. 
So  I  have  just  been  writing  one  to  Mr.  Trowbridge  on  his 
volume  of  poems,  and  will  write  you  one  on  nothing  in 
particular.  Your  wife's  letter  this  morning  was  very  en 
couraging.  You  will  come  through  triumphantly.  But 
now  that  you  sit  in  your  library  again,  I  must  not  write 
you  any  more  nonsense.  When  you  were  morphined  out 
of  your  wits,  anything  might  pass.  Now  that  you  are  in 

1  Henry  James,  the  elder. 


1874.]  LETTERS.  223 

your  right  mind,  I  can  no  longer  impose  upon  you.  I  saw 
to-day,  for  the  first  time,  the  Life  and  Letters  of  Cogs 
well.  It  is  a  large  and  handsome  octavo,  privately  printed. 
I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  a  copy.  I  think  it  must  be  a 
very  interesting  book.  The  young  woman  who  writes  the 
literary  notices  for  the  Advertiser  informs  me  this  morning 
that  the  '  Hanging  of  the  Crane '  will  not  add  anything  to 
my  reputation.  I  am  sorry  for  that ;  I  thought  perhaps 
it  might !  I  hope  the  mustard-leaves  reached  you  in 
safety ;  you  will  find  them  very  potent.  The  dinner- 
bell  rings.  Farewell. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  15,  1874. 

Mindful  of  the  French  saying,  II  n'y  a  rien  de  certain 
que  I'imprevu,  I  often  wonder  what  will  be  my  next  an 
noyance  ;  for  annoyances  are  as  sure  to  come  as  the  world 
is  to  turn  round. 

Last  evening  the  unforeseen  appeared  in  the  shape  of  a 
letter  from  a  German  professor  in  Innsbruck,  requesting 
me  to  act  as  agent  for  collecting  funds  to  raise  a  bronze 
statue  to  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  in  Botzen.  Good 
heavens !  have  we  not  enough  to  do  in  erecting  equestrian 
statues  of  General  Jackson,  and  in  making  the  perpendic 
ular  steed  stand  on  the  tip  of  his  tail  ?  Have  we  not 
enough  to  do  in  adorning  our  streets  with  wooden  Indians 
at  the  doors  of  tobacconists,  and  our  ships  with  figure 
heads  of  Hebe  and  Pocahontas  ?  I  do  not  believe  there 
are  a  hundred  men  in  the  United  States  —  except  Ger 
mans  —  who  ever  heard  of  Vogelweide  the  Minnesinger, 
and  not  ten  who  would  give  ten  cents  toward  raising  a 
statue  to  him  at  Botzen. 

I'  promised  to  write  you  no  more  nonsense  ;  and  lo ! 
here  are  three  pages  of  it,  besides  the  enclosure,  which 
is  nonsense  or  not,  as  you  please  to  regard  it.  Mean- 


224  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1874. 

while  get  well   as  fast  as  you  can,  and  do  not  be  de 
pressed  by  gloom  of  weather  or  anything  else. 


24th.  Finished  a  Poem  for  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary 
of  the  Class  of  1825  at  Bowdoin  College. 

26th.  This  morning  translated  my  Sonnet  on  the 
Ponte  Vecchio  at  Florence  into  Italian. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  29,  1874. 

I  arn  afraid  you  will  get  tired  of  my  letters,  and  say 
they  are  too  many.  Nevertheless,  I  will  wind  up  the 
month  with  another,  though  I  have  nothing  in  the  world 
to  tell  you.  I  am  not  Baron  Grimm,  nor  Mme.  de 
Se'vigne. 

Yesterday,  under  the  archway  of  the  Marlborough,  I 
found  and  bought  a  copy  of  Guicciardini,  ten  volumes  in 
five,  half-calf  octavo,  for  the  moderate  price  of  fifty  cents 
per  volume ! 

I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  forgot.  You  "  take  no  further  in 
terest  in  books."  Still,  I  would  not  trust  you  alone 
under  the  archway  for  any  length  of  time,  nor  down  in 
the  depths  below,  with  the  tempter  Levering.  The  pas 
sion  for  buying  books  must  be  one  of  the  last  to  leave  us. 
As  to  the  reading  of  books,  that  is  another  matter.  I  am 
afraid  that  long  ago  I  became  an  impatient  reader.  Per 
haps  I  always  was  one.  I  early  felt  the  despair  that 
comes  over  the  soul  at  the  sight  of  a  large  library.  I  am 
very  restless  under  the  infliction  of  a  diffuse  style,  and 
want  everything  said  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

I  am  sorry  about  your  sleep.  If  you  were  here,  I 
would  read  to  you  my  last  poem ;  that  would  do  the 
business  effectually ! 


1874.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  225 

30th.  Wrote  a  sonnet  on  an  unknown  soldier's  grave 
at  Newport  News.1 

December  4.  In  the  evening  Owen  and  Nichols,  with 
Sumner's  proofs. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  6,  1874. 

I  send  you  to-day  a  number  of  the  Overland  Magazine 
containing  two  articles  which  I  think  will  interest  you. 
One  is  on  Stuart  Mill ;  the  other  on  Hubert  Bancroft,  the 
first  volume  of  whose  work  on  the  Native  Tribes  of  the 
Pacific  Coast  has  just  appeared.  You  will  admire,  as  I 
do,  his  devotion  to  his  work ;  it  is  a  noble  example.  Thus 
are  great  things  achieved;  happy  the  man  who  has  the 
will  and  the  way  to  accomplish  them ! 

An  amiable  critic  in  a  New  York  paper  says  of  the 
'  Hanging  of  the  Crane '  that  everybody  connected  with 
the  book  "  has  done  his  duty  except  one,  and  that  is  the 
author  himself."  Among  other  equally  flattering  remarks, 
he  repeats  that  old,  old  formula :  "  If  this  poem  had  been 
sent  anonymously  to  any  magazine  in  the  country,  it 
would  have  been  instantly  rejected."  Howells  says  he 
wishes  somebody  would  try  the  experiment  on  him. 

So  we  drift  along,  buffeted  by  side-winds  and  flaws. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  7,  1874. 

I  sent  you  yesterday  an  essay  on  Stuart  Mill  which  I 
thought  might  have  some  interest  for  you.  There  is  noth 
ing  new  in  it,  but  it  may  reawaken  your  slumbering  love 
of  reading.  Stuart  Mill  is  a  kind  of  Petrarca  in  prose, 
and  Mrs.  Taylor  a  modern  Laura  de  Sade.  How  strange 

1  A  newspaper  paragraph.,  '-'A  soldier  of  the  Union  mustered 
out,"  had  been  sent  him  long  before. 

15 


226  LETTERS.  [1874. 

it  is  that  after  five  centuries  Avignon  and  Vaucluse  should 
again  become  the  scene  of  a  romantic  passion !  Stranger 
still,  but  characteristic  of  the  two  different  ages  and  na 
tions,  that  the  part  of  the  Italian  troubadour  should  be 
played  by  an  English  philosopher,  and  sonnets  give  place 
to  essays  on  Political  Economy.  Yet  the  sweet  old  pas 
sion  was  the  same,  and  as  powerful  in  the  philosopher  as 
in  the  poet,  and  perhaps  more  sincere  and  lasting.  Who 
knows  ? 

I  have  had  rather  a  rough  week  of  it,  this  last.  One 
evening,  finding  my  room  oppressively  hot,  I  opened  the 
window  to  breathe,  and  in  two  minutes  was  shot  through 
and  through  by  the  arrows  of  the  heavenly  maid, 
Influenza. 

Good  heavens  !  what  kind  of  style  is  this  ?  Am  I  John 
Lilly  writing  Euphues? 

Have  you  seen  Howells's  new  novel,  A  Foregone  Con 
clusion  ?  The  scene  is  in  Venice,  and  the  character  of 
the  priest  Don  Ippolito  is  very  powerfully  drawn.  In 
that  respect  this  book  is  a  stride  forward. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

THEBES,  December  10,  1874. 

I  can  add  little  to  my  address ;  that  tells  the  whole 
story.  Here  we  are  at  last  at  this  supreme  centre  of  the 
old  civilization.  I  certainly  shall  not  attempt  to  describe 
it  to  you,  —  the  books  must  do  that ;  but  you  at  least  will 
gladly  hear  that  we  are  not  disappointed.  We  have  just 
returned  from  our  first  visit  to  the  wonders.  What  shall 
I  say  of  the  grand  old  stones  and  tender  cuttings  ?  So 
clear  and  pure,  yet  telling  about  what  we  so  little  under 
stand  that,  while  everything  is  undisguised,  the  secret  is 
still  kept,  or  much  of  it.  But  I  must  not  waste  my  paper 
in  aesthetics.  My  party  is  a  delightful  one.  All  are  cul- 


1874.]  LETTERS.  227 

tivated  and  ardent  admirers  of  beauty.  I  keep  a  little 
journal  which  I  dictate  to  Miss  Fletcher,  and  Eugene 
Benson  is  to  illustrate  it.  I  shall  make  a  little  book  of  it, 
that  you  all  may  see  what  a  charming  thing  this  Nile  life 
is.  Your  letter  and  the  lovely  poem  on  Cadenabbia 
reached  me  last  night.  It  seems,  when  reading  your 
words,  that  I  am  stretching  my  hands  from  natron  cere 
ments  over  the  centuries  to  young  America.  We  have  a 
consort  boat,  the  "  Clara,"  now  rustling  by  us,  and  in  it  are 
a  daughter  of  Fraed  the  poet,  and  a  savant,  and  Mr.  and 

Mrs.  P ,  who  are  the  heads  of  the  party.     Each  boat 

does  just  what  the  other  does,  and  we  walk  and  shoot  to 
gether.  We  stumbled,  at  Sioot,  upon  the  Ghawazees,  who 
were  at  a  marriage,  as  dancing-girls  are,  and  we  all  went 
in,  thinking  it  was  a  cafe;  but  it  was  the  Governor's 
house.  But  they  are  not  proud  in  Egypt,  and  we  had 
kindness  and  coffee,  and  especial  dancing  for  us.  The 
Jwwadji  can  do  anything  here.  A  Prussian  prince,  too, 
was  in  our  company ;  but  he  has  run  on,  —  probably  here 
only  for  the  shooting.  The  Prussian  bloodthirstiness  was 
shown  by  shooting  doves  into  the  river  to  die  and  drown. 
But  he  did  get  a  magnificent  eagle,  who  had  indeed  "  the 
strength  of  pinion  that  the  Theban  eagle  bare."  We  shall 
drink  deep  from  these  antique  fountains  here  for  three 
days,  and  then  forward.  We  got  up  yesterday,  as  you 
did,  to  see  the  transit,  and  blacked  our  noses  against  the 
glass.  It  was  as  clear  as  possible,  and  I  rejoice  for  the 
savants  here,  who  had  their  dahabeyali  illuminated  last 
night.  We  daily  have  a  cool  bath,  and  the  weather,  when 
there  is  a  breeze,  is  beyond  belief.  One  hangs,  in  this 
bright  sky,  like  a  fly  in  amber.  The  evenings  are  in 
credible,  —  such  tones,  such  gradations  of  splendor !  Every 
night  Eugene  and  I  dash  at  our  colors  and  shoot  straight 
at  the  setting  sun  as  at  a  target.  Not  often  do  I  hit ;  but 
E.  has  a  dozen  dear  bits,  which  he  is  to  sink  into  an  Ara- 


228  LETTERS.  [1874. 

bian  cabinet  which  we  can  get  at  Cairo.  And  what  shall 
I  say  of  Antonio,  our  cook  ?  He  is  a  magician ;  and  such 
mishmash,  such  dates  with  almonds  and  sugar,  such  pigeon- 
pies, —  we  shoot  our  own  pigeons,  —  such  turkeys,  always, 
young  ones !  It  is  almost  too  much  for  us. 

I  hear  the  consorts  firing  away  their  guns ;  so  another 
boat  has  come.  I  hope  it  is  General  McClellan.  We  had 
a  feu  de  joic  last  evening,  as  we  came  in  under  a  wing  of 
gold  from  Thebes  across  the  river;  for  we  are  now  at 
Luxor.  Our  consul  visited  us,  —  an  Arab,  brown  as  a 
berry,  and  having  no  idea  where  America  is,  but  speaking 
English  well.  Giving  and  taking  coffee  seems  the  sum  of 
official  duty.  Imagine  our  coffee  !  direct  from  beyond 
yonder  hills,  and  as  aromatic  as  it  is  innocent.  We  have 
it  three  times  a  day ;  and  our  tea  is  delicious.  Our  li 
brary  is  a  double  one,  —  my  own  and  the  boat's,  which  is 
a  private  yacht  in  summer.  George  Curtis  [Nile  Notes] 
reads  better  than  ever,  so  graceful  and  so  refined.  But 
Martineau  is  our  favorite ;  she  is  a  thinker.  Lepsius  and 
the  colossal  pair  of  England,  Lane  and  Wilkinson,  are 
never  off  our  table.  When  there  is  no  wind  the  flies  de 
scend  like  fiends ;  we  are  at  their  rnercy.  But  they  dis 
appear  when  Zephyr  comes. 

Love  to  Craigie  House  and  all  dear  ones.  Need  I  tell 
A.  that  the  hollow  diamond l  hangs  from  my  yard  sixty 
feet  over  head? 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 

1  The  flag  of  his  yacht,  the  "Alice." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JOURNAL  AND   LETTERS. 
1875-1876. 

January  14, 1875.  Have  got  down  into  my  study  again, 
after  being  shut  up  in  my  chamber  a  fortnight  with  in 
fluenza  and  neuralgia.  Greene  has  departed,  and  I  feel 
quite  strange  and  solitary. 

To  Miss  K . 

January  15, 1875. 

Not  being  a  Spiritualist  in  the  usual  and  popular  sense 
of  the  word  —  that  is  to  ^ay,  never  having  seen  any  mani 
festations  that  convinced  me  of  the  presence  of  spirits  —  I 
should  deem  it  almost  an  act  of  dishonesty  on  my  part  to 
accept  the  compliment  you  offer.1 

I  must  therefore,  with  many  thanks  for  this  mark  of 
your  consideration,  beg  leave  to  decline  it. 


22d.  Began  a  Dramatic  Idyl,  —  Epimetheus  [afterward 
called  Pandora]. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  5,  1875. 

The  pain  in  my  head  is  somewhat  assuaged,  though  the 
roar  of  "  multitudinous  seas  "  still  continues  in  my  ears. 
So  far  so  good,  looking  for  something  better. 

1  Apparently  an  honorary  membership  in  an  English  "  Association 
of  Spiritualists." 


230  LETTERS.  [1875. 

As  I  laid  down  the  paper  this  morning,  I  wished  that  I 
could  be,  for  a  season  at  least,  in  a  land  where  are  no 
newspapers.  What  kind  of  a  public  are  we,  to  be  fed 
daily  with  such  horrors  of  all  kinds,  and  tolerate  it  ?  The 
low  tone  of  everything  disturbs  and  discourages  me. 

February  6. 

The  roar  of  the  ocean  has  ceased,  and  now  I  have  a 
sewing-machine  in  my  head,  turning  out  any  amount  of 
ready-made  clothing.  Such  is  my  bulletin  for  to-day. 
What  is  yours  ?  Whatever  it  may  be,  do  not  lose  heart. 
Faith  is  half  the  battle ;  the  spirit  lifts  the  body. 

I  sent  you  this  morning  a  portrait  of  Sam  Ward  in  a 
newspaper  as  "  King  of  the  Lobby."  I  will  send  another 
paper  with  several  interesting  articles.  Do  not  fail  to 
read  that  on  Sainte-Beuve,  and  what  Euskin  says  about 
critics  and  criticism. 

Besides  the  ready-made  clothing,  the  sewing-machine  has 
turned  out  a  poem  on  Amalfi.  In  this  cold  weather  what 
can  one  do  better  than  think  of  that  lovely  land,  —  and 
sing  of  it,  if  the  song  comes  ? 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

MINEAH,  EGYPT,  February  13,  1875. 

DEAR  HENEY,  —  Behold  me  returned  from  a  descent 
into  Africa,  where  was  no  post  and  no  railroad,  but  only 
Nature  and  History.  I  went  as  into  a  cloud  ;  but,  oh !  the 
silver  and  gold  lining  of  it,  as  the  sun  or  the  moon  shone. 
It  was  weird  and  wonderful,  and  put  me  in  relation  with 
Speke  and  Grant  and  the  other  great  travellers.  I  kept 
a  faithful  journal,  and  made  endless  sketches,  all  in  water- 
color.  My  friend  Mr.  Benson  was  very  active,  and  in  oil 
has  a  store  of  beauties.  He  arid  his  family  have  proved 
delightful  companions,  and  enjoyed  every  moment ;  not  a 
sunset  nor  a  dish  was  thrown  away  upon  them.  Oh,  that 


1875.]  LETTERS.  231 

you  had  our  spring  instead  of  the  sulky,  reluctant  visitor 
I  so  well  remember  !  Before  my  eyes  is  a  sheet  of  green, 
such  as  only  Egypt  knows,  and  set  in  the  gold  of  sand  and 
cliff  which  doubles  its  beauty.  You  must  get  Mr.  Gay 
to  tell  you  of  these  wonders ;  my  space  can  do  them  no 
justice. 

None  but  a  goose  can  see  this  country  and  not  feel  as  if 
he  were  saluting  a  mother.  At  Beni-Hassan  yesterday  I 
saw  Homer  and  the  Bible  painted  on  the  walls  ;  and  yet 
the  life  of  to-day.  These  Egyptian  children  were  indeed  the 
fathers  of  all  of  us  men  since.  Life  here  cannot  escape  from 
the  old  conditions.  Our  dethroned  mast  (for  we  row  only, 
now)  rests  on  a  semicircle  of  iron  identical  with  one  I  saw 
yesterday  on  a  boat  of  five  thousand  years  ago.  To  walk  in 
the  shadow  of  such  a  date  gives  grandeur  to  life.  Would 
you  were  here,  and  we  should  have  a  poem  with  a  fine  old- 
crusty-port  flavor.  /  have  shut  up  my  exuberant  Muse  in 
sonnets,  and  my  brain  is  still  spinning  more.  .  .  . 

Faithfully, 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  15,  1875. 

By  way  of  recreation,  I  am  reading  the  Fasti  of  Ovid. 
What  a  curious  coincidence  there  is  between  his  legend  of 
Flora  and  Zephyrus  (book  v.  201)  and  that  of  Winona  and 
the  West  Wind  in  '  Hiawatha.'  Ovid  makes  Flora  tell  her 
own  story  briefly  and  modestly  in  two  lines.  What  a 
beautiful  line  is  this,  — 

"  Dum  loquitur,  vernas  efflat  ab  ore  rosas." 

But  why  talk  of  Zephyr  when  Boreas  is  blowing  ?  The 
winter  intimidates  me.  Even  in-doors  I  am  cold.  We 
have  made  a  mistake  in  bringing  into  this  severe  climate 
our  old  English  prejudices  in  favor  of  open  fires.  We 


232  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1875. 

need  Russian  stoves.      I  wish  I  had  one  this  moment 
in  my  study. 

A  stranger  in  the  West  asks  me  to  write  for  him  two 
poems  "  on  friendship,  or  a  subject  like  that,  for  the  album 
of  a  young  lady  who  is  a  very  particular  friend."  He  asks 
me  also  to  "  send  the  bill  with  the  articles." 


February  20.  Since  Christmas  I  have  been  suffering  the 
tortures  of  neuralgia  in  the  head,  fostered  and  augmented 
by  the  cold  and  bitter  northwest  wind  that  has  been  blow 


ing  for  two  months. 


To  Miss 


February  20,  1875. 

If  I  had  time  I  would  write  you  a  long  letter  in  reply 
to  yours,  which  has  greatly  interested  me.  But,  alas  ! 
though,  as  the  Indian  said,  I  have  all  the  time  there  is,  it 
is  not  enough  for  the  many  claims  made  upon  it.  I  can 
only  send  you  and  the  boys  and  girls  under  your  care  a 
friendly  salutation.  To  those  who  ask  "  how  I  can  write 
so  many  things  that  sound  as  if  I  were  happy  as  a  boy," 
please  say  that  there  is  in  a  neighboring  town  a  pear-tree 
planted  by  Governor  Endicott  two  hundred  years  ago, 
and  it  still  bears  fruit  not  to  be  distinguished  from  that 
of  a  young  tree  in  flavor.  I  suppose  the  tree  makes  new 
wood  every  year,  so  that  some  parts  of  it  are  always 
young.  Perhaps  this  is  the  way  with  some  men  when 
they  grow  old  ;  I  hope  it  is  so  with  me.  I  am  glad  to 
hear  that  your  boys  and  girls  take  so  much  interest  in 
poetry.  That  is  a  good  thing ;  for  poetry  is  the  flower  and 
perfume  of  thought,  and  a  perpetual  delight,  clothing  the 
common-place  of  life  with  "  golden  exhalations  of  the 
dawn."  Give  them  all  my  sympathy  and  good  wishes. 


1875.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  233 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

February  27,  1875. 

How  very  kind  you  are  to  remember  my  birthday,  and 
to  crown  it  with  such  a  lovely  wreath  of  flowers  !  Sweeter 
than  the  flowers  were  the  good  wishes  that  came  with 
them.  How  much  I  thank  you  ! 

A  mysterious  stranger  came  to  me  last  evening ;  said 
that  he  had  heard  that  I  was  suffering  from  neuralgia,  and 
had  brought  me  a  wonderful  belt  which  would  cure  me. 
As  my  mind  is  always  hospitably  open  to  empiricism  and 
its  "  kindred  delusions,"  I  lent  a  willing  ear  to  his  sugges 
tions  ;  wore  the  belt  at  night ;  slept  seven  hours  without 
waking ;  and  to-day  the  cloud  is  lifted  from  my  brain.  It 
may  be  all  imagination.  If  so,  imagination  is  a  good 
medicine.  Should  I  be  as  much  better  to-morrow  as  I  am 
to-day,  I  shall  think  it  a  reality. 


March  3.  Wrote  a  little  poem,  '  The  Sermon  of  Saint 
Francis  ; '  that  is,  his  sermon  to  the  birds.  —  Mr.  White, 
the  City  Forester,  called,  and  brought  me  several  articles 
made  of  the  Washington  elm.  Mr.  Monti  came  to  dinner, 
and  in  the  evening  read  an  interesting  paper  on  Brigand 
age  in  Calabria  and  Sicily. 

5th.  Have  nearly  finished  the  first  draft  of  Epimetheus 
[Pandora].  To-day  wrote  the  Chorus  beginning, — 

"  What  the  Immortals 
Confide  to  thy  keeping,"  etc. 

6th.  Mrs.  Sargent  and  Whittier,  the  poet,  came  to  see 
me. 

To  H.  A.  Bright. 

March  19,  1875. 

I  beg  you  to  accept  my  thanks  for  your  kind  remem 
brance,  and  for  the  pretty  little  volume  on  the  Glenriddel 
MSS.  of  Burns. 


234  LETTERS.  [1875. 

Burns's  own  estimate  of  these  verses  seems  to  me  just, 
and  it  seems  also  strange  to  me  that  he  should  have  copied 
some  of  them,  even  for  a  friend.  But  the  account  you 
give  of  them  is  curious,  and  valuable  as  a  bit  of  literary 
history. 

I  always  recall  with  pleasure  our  drive  to  Ashfield 
before  your  house  was  built.  The  grounds  and  gardens 
were  hardly  yet  in  order,  —  hardly  more  than  a  promise 
and  a  prophecy.  I  dare  say  both  promise  and  prophecy 
have  been  fulfilled,  and  the  place  has  that  comfortable  and 
elegant  look  which  England  expects  as  a  duty.  Long  may 
you  live  to  enjoy  it ! 

Let  me  thank  you  also  for  your  hospitable  invitation  to 
show  my  friends  the  pathway  to  your  door.  That  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  rne,  should  the  occasion  present 
itself. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

JERUSALEM,  March  24,  1875. 

DEAK  HENRY,  —  We  are  back  again  at  our  old  camping- 
ground  ;  and  I  must  tell  you  something  of  our  excursion 
to  the  Pools  of  Solomon  and  the  Dead  Sea.  We  went 
through  Bethany,  —  a  hamlet  of  twenty  houses,  just  out  of 
sight  of  Jerusalem,  on  the  hill's  farther  side.  When,  com 
ing  thence,  the  Saviour  turned  a  point  of  the  hill,  Jeru 
salem  burst  upon  him  and  drew  forth  the  passionate 
apostrophe.  We  now  know  the  way  he  came ;  for  though 
there  are  three  roads,  only  one  is  large  enough  for  the 
multitude  which  followed  and  met  him.  On  we  went 
down,  down,  thirteen  hundred  feet,  till  we  reached  the 
plain,  with  the  Mountains  of  Moab  just  opposite, — a  long, 
even  line,  hazy  with  purple  lights  and  shadows,  and  the 
Dead  Sea  on  our  right.  We  camped  near  Elisha's  Well, 
and  enjoyed  our  gypsy  ing  famously.  After  dinner,  by  the 
light  of  the  moon  we  had  a  Bedouin  dance,  —  some  fifty 


1875.]  LETTERS.  235 

men,  women,  and  children.  It  was  weird  and  savage,  and 
their  cries  just  like  our  Indians'  war-whoop.  We  had  to 
pay  them  well  for  their  civility  ;  but  it  was  better  than 
being  robbed,  —  their  usual  business.  We  took  as  a 
protector  a  famous  Bedouin  chief,  who  thundered  about 
on  horseback  at  full  speed,  and  drawing  his  sword,  looked 
like  a  first-rate  circus-rider.  He  haggled  much  for  his 
backsheesh,  but  finally  presented  me  with  his  photograph ! 
Imagine  Barak  or  -Sisera  presenting  his  photograph  to 
visitors !  The  next  day  we  pricked  over  the  plains  two 
hours  to  the  Dead  Sea.  Soon  we  were  hunting  for  peb 
bles  and  shells,  with  biggish  waves  breaking  at  our  feet, 
and  a  feeling  of  the  sea  as  the  salt  was  blown  in  our  faces. 
On  our  way  we  had  skirted  the  Jordan  and  drunk  of  it. 
It  is  a  lively  little  river,  like  the  Tiber  for  color  and  size, 
but  with  oleanders  and  terebinth  and  rich  variety  of  trees 
and  flowers.  The  flowers  accompany  us  wherever  we  go, 
crimsoning  our  lunch  places  and  drawing  us  in  fond  pur 
suit  round  many  a  rock  and  swell.  The  sky  was  veiled, 
but  pure  and  tender ;  the  weather  quite  perfect,  and  no 
insects.  Then  we  turned  from  the  sea ;  and  up,  up  we 
went,  as  by  a  torrent-bed  of  loose  stones,  swinging  round 
inaccessible  heights,  and  getting  stuck  at  times ;  but  up, 
up,  till  the  vast  chasms  of  limestone  in  circular  scoops 
drew  us,  giddy  at  their  edge,  suddenly  in  sight  of  the 
famous  Convent  of  Masaba,  —  the  oldest  convent  in  the 
world,  and  by  far  the  most  picturesque.  It  half  clings  to, 
and  half  soars  above,  the  cliff,  and  has  zigzag  walls  to  pro 
tect  it  from  the  Bedouins.  It  was  more  like  a  dream  than 
a  reality,  or  one  of  Gustave  Dore's  most  daring  grotesques ; 
and  as  we  rode  to  the  top  and  I  saw  an  incredible  tower, 
with  a  citizen  in  a  cJiapeau  leaning  over  the  wall,  and  a 
telegraphic  wire  hanging  out  of  the  sky,  I  was  sure  I  was 
asleep.  But  a  little  bird  sat  on  the  wire  and  chirped, 
"  Come  up  ;  don't  be  afraid !  Don't  you  see  I  am  not  ? " 


236  LETTERS.  [1875. 

and  then  we  swept  into  camp.  The  next  day  we  spent  an 
hour  in  chatting  with  the  drowsy  monks  about  St.  Saba 
and  the  lovely  blue  birds  who  comfort  these  recluses,  and 
in  eating  the  good  coarse  bread  and  spitting  out  the  un 
cooked  beans  they  eat  (for  flesh  they  will  not  touch),  and 
in  sketching  the  one  palm-tree  which  waves  them  heaven 
ward.  Then  we  glided  down  to  the  three  Pools  of  Solo 
mon,  —  of  the  size  of  our  Boston  reservoir,  —  and  there  we 
reposed,  thinking  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  and  rebuilding 
his  garden  bowers,  indolent  after  our  ten  hours'  ride  of 
the  day  before ;  and  then,  in  two  more  hours,  we  were  at 
Bethlehem.  Instead  of  talking  about  this  sacred  place,  I 
send  you  some  flowers,  as  better  than  words. 
Affectionately, 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  30,  1875. 

The  neuralgia  still  rages  in  my  head  with  unabated 
violence.  What  a  discipline  of  pain  ! 

I  am  glad  that  no  college  class  can  have  more  than  one 
semi-centennial  anniversary.  It  makes  me  nervous  to 
think  of  it.  I  do  not  like  to  hear  the  subject  spoken  of  ; 
and  when  I  look  at  the  poem,  it  gives  me  a  shudder.1 

But  what  nonsense  this  is !  I  have  no  doubt  every 
thing  will  go  off  well ;  and  if  it  does  not,  there  will  be 
no  great  harm  done.  Wednesday,  the  seventh  of  July,  is 
the  appointed  day. 

1  With  characteristic  promptness,  he  had  written  the  poem  some 
months  before,  and  had  had  a  few  copies  printed  and  carefully 
guarded.  In  November  he  had  written  to  Mr.  Greene  :  "  After  tell 
ing  my  classmates  that  I  could  not  write  a  poem  for  the  anniversary, 
I  have  gone  to  work  and  written  one,  —  some  two  or  three  hundred 
lines  in  all,  and  quite  long  enough.  Whether  I  shall  have  the  cour 
age  to  read  it  in  public  when  the  time  comes,  is  another  question." 


1875.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  237 

April  14.  A  very  bad  day  for  neuralgia ;  suffered 
intensely. 

16th.  Eead  in  the  London  Publishers'  Circular  that 
"  Professor  Longfellow  has  almost  ready  for  the  press  a 
translation  of  the  Nibelungen  Lied  in  verse,  and  a  sacred 
Tragedy,  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  his  Judas  Maccabeus, 
which  extends  to  no  less  than  fifteen  acts."  There  is  not 
one  word  of  truth  in  this. 

17th.  Mr.  Nadal,  one  of  the  literary  editors  of  the 
New  York  Evening  Post,  dines  with  me ;  also  Lowell. 

18th.  Bad  day  for  me ;  neuralgia  raging.  In  the  even 
ing  my  girls  drive  over  to  Prospect  Hill  to  see  the  light 
ing  of  Paul  Eevere's  lanterns  in  the  belfry  of  the  old 
North  Church.1 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  22,  1875. 

I  wish  I  could  write  you  oftener  and  more  fully ;  but 
it  is  impossible.  This  constant  pain  is  very  debilitating, 
and  takes  away  all  pleasure  in  writing  or  doing  anything 
one  is  not  absolutely  obliged  to  do.  You  must  not,  how 
ever,  be  troubled  about  me  ;  I  shall  worry  through  it. 

My  girls  all  went  up  to  Concord  on  Monday,  and  en 
joyed  the  celebration  heartily.  I  could  not  go,  but  was 
glad  they  should  have  this  historic  memory.  You  of 
course  have  read  the  orations  of  Curtis  and  Dana ;  they 
are  very  different,  and  both  very  good.  So  is  Lowell's 
Ode,-  which  is  not  yet  published.  He  read  it  to  me  before 
hand.  He  has  a  gift  for  that  kind  of  composition. 

For  the  next  few  years  we  shall  have  centennial  cele 
brations  all  over  the  country.  I  hope  they  will  do  some 
good;  and  I  think  they  may,  in  holding  up  the  noble 
lives  of  other  days  as  examples. 

1  This  was  one  of  the  many  "  centennial "  incidents  of  this  and 
the  following  years. 


238  LETTERS.  [1875. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

PARIS,  June  3,  1875. 

My  dream  is  now  over ;  the  pearly  gates  of  the  Orient 
are  shut,  and  the  prosy  comforts  of  civilization  take  their 
place.  And  great  is  our  relish  of  them  after  the  barbaric 
deficiencies  of  the  winter !  Never  did  order,  did  art,  did 
literature,  look  more  charming;  and  we  take  our  full 
draught  of  all.  I  am  at  the  Hotel  du  Jardin,  well  up  and 
in  front,  and  the  lovely  [Tuileries]  garden  is  in  front.  The 
trees,  I  think,  were  never  so  beautiful.  And  yet,  gaping 
and  grim  with  unhealed  wounds,  just  beside,  is  the  home 
of  France's  kings.1  Along  the  ruined  front  is  written 
Rep'iiblique  Franfaise,  as  in  mockery,  seeming  to  say : 
"  You  see  how  we  look  after  France's  monuments." 

The  Salon  is  open,  and  so  big  that  it  swallows  us  like  a 
sea-monster.  We  come  out  dishevelled  and  undone,  and 
I  refuse  for  days  to  look  on  a  picture.  How  I  wish 
Ernest  were  here  to  enjoy  it  with  us  !  It  is  full  of  talent, 
and  has  far  less  of  the  cultivated  brutal  than  there  used 
to  be.  One  huge  canvas  of  Eizpah  protecting  the  corpses 
of  Saul's  sons,  is  quite  enough  for  one  morning.  The 
young  Americans  look  well.  Some  sporting  scenes  by  a 
Philadelphia!!,  Eakins,  and  two  Egyptian  scenes  by  Bridg- 
man,  are  capital.  Healey  is  strong  in  portraits ;  but  I 
missed  them  in  my  battle  with  the  hosts  of  canvases.  I 
have  a  gallery  of  my  own,  —  my  one  hundred  and  sixty 
sketches.  I  am  proud  of  my  industry,  and  forever  I  shall 
have  what  will  recreate  for  me  at  a  glance  Syria  and 
Egypt. 

I  have  dined  with  the  Laugels  to.  meet  Eenan ;  and  you 
may  imagine  how  we  talked  of  Syria  and  the  lovely  fields 
around  Galilee.  I  renounced  talking  Spiritualism  with 

1  The  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  burned  by  the  Communists,  who 
feared  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy. 


1875.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  239 

him  the  moment  I  saw  him.  He  is  jolly  and  clever,  and 
allowed  to  the  hated  Germans  the  best  scholarship  of 
Europe.  He  thought  they  had  the  best  death-weapon 
the  world  ever  saw,  and  he  wished  not  to  run  against  it, 
but  let  it  rust  and  consume  itself.  This  I  hold  to  be 
wisdom.  We  saw  La  Fille  de  Roland  at  the  Franc.ais,  — 
every  line  an  allusion  to  Prussia  and  the  war. 

How  I  long  to  kiss  the  dear  nieces !  Love  to  them 
overflowing.  Tell  Charles  if  he  is  sure  to  wish  for  the 
"Alice"  to  put  her  at  once  in  commission. 

T.  G.  APPLETON. 


June  17.     The  centennial  of  the  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 

18th.  A  call  from  the  "Confederate"  General  Fitz- 
hugh  Lee.1  In  the  afternoon  General  Sherman  and  his 
staff  came. 

July  1.  Bead  before  my  Class  at  Brunswick  a  poem  on 
our  fiftieth  anniversary,  entitled  '  Morituri  Salutamus.' 2 

From  Benjamin  Pierce? 

July  8,  1875. 

MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  read  your  poem  twice 
this  morning,  —  once  aloud  to  my  wife  and  sister.  It  is 
new,  it  is  true,  it  is  touching,  it  is  beautiful.  Worthily  of 
your  youth  have  you  used  the  opportunity  of  age.  It 
seems  to  me  the  most  spiritual  of  all  your  immortalities. 
Your  sincere  friend  and  admirer, 

BENJAMIN  PIERCE. 

1  Some  of  the  Southern  generals  and  a  military  company  from 
South  Carolina  came  on  to  attend  the  celebration  at  Bunker  Hill,  in 
friendly  token  of  restored  peace  and  amity. 

2  The  poem  was  published  the  next  day  in  Harper's  Magazine. 

8  The  distinguished  mathematician,  for  many  years  professor  in 
Harvard  College. 


240  LETTERS.  [1875. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

July  18,  1875. 

I  reached  home  on  Thursday  last,  and  found  on  rny 
table  between  thirty  and  forty  letters,  in  addition  to  ten 
which  I  brought  with  me  from  Portland  unanswered. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  And  echo  answers 
What  ?  Ah,  if  it  would  only  answer  the  letters  ? 

I  wish  you  could  have  been  in  Brunswick  on  the  memo 
rable  seventh.  I  think  you  would  have  been  well  satis 
fied  with  my  reception  and  with  the  thing  in'  general. 
The  story  is  too  long  for  a  letter.  I  will  tell  it  to  you 
when  we  meet.  As  soon  as  you  can  tear  yourself  from 
the  arms  of  your  beloved  Windmill,  I  hope  you  will  come 
to  Cambridge.  To-morrow  I  shall  put  the  '  Legend  of 
Epimetheus '  [Pandora]  into  the  printer's  hands.  I  want 
you  to  go  over  the  proofs  with  me.  It  shall  not  tax  your 
eyes,  for  I  will  read  them  to  you. 

I  am  not  well  yet;  but  I  come  back  from  Brunswick 
better  than  I  went.  The  excitement  did  me  good. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

July  30,  1875. 

The  cars  go  jingling  by,  but  your  form  is  not  seen 
emerging  from  them  and  passing  under  the  lilac  arch  at 
the  gate.  I  wait  in  vain. 

The  printers  are  slow.  They  have  had  my  manuscript 
for  a  week,  and  have  not  yet  sent  me  the  first  proof.  How 
impatient  young  authors  are !  Proof-reading  is  just  the 
work  for  this  weather. 

I  am  getting  slowly  better.  So  long  as  I  keep  perfectly 
quiet  I  feel  pretty  well.  Patience  and  Nux  Vomica  are 
my  two  sheet-anchors. 

And  the  Windmill  with  its  folded  wings,  and  the  stones 


1875.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  241 

that  grind  no  more!     That  was  a  happy  thought,  if  it 
makes  you  happy. 

To-morrow  I  try  dining  with  the  Club,  and  hope  that 
Motley  will  be  there.     He  is  at  Nahant. 


October  5.  Lord  Houghton l  called,  and  sat  an  hour. 
He  is  tormented  with  neuralgia,  as  I  am. 

7th.  Lord  Houghton  lunched  with  us.  No  other 
guests  but  Lowell  and  Greene. 

llth.  Went  with  Lowell  to  see  Motley,  who  goes  back 
to  England  on  Saturday. 

14th.  Call  from  the  Governor  of  Victoria  in  Australia, 
and  afterward  from  old  Admiral  Coffin,  of  the  British 
Navy. 

16th.  In  the  afternoon  Anthony  Trollope,  the  novelist, 
calls. 

25th.  Drove  with  the  Horsfords  to  Wellesley  to  see 
Mr.  Durant's  Female  College.  A  fine  building  overlook 
ing  Lake  Wabun ;  three  hundred  pupils.  After  dinner 
we  had  a  row  on  the  lake  in  the  College  boat,  the  "  Evan- 
geline,"  with  a  crew  of  eight  girls  and  the  handsome  cap 
tain,  Miss  E .  It  was  like  sailing  with  the  nine 

Muses. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  29,  1875. 

On  page  32  of  Pandora  there  is  an  unlucky  false  quan 
tity,  —  Cybe'le  for  Cyb'ele.  This  is  all  owing  to  my  Lord 
Byron,  with  his 

"  She  looks  a  sea  Cybele  fresh  from  ocean," 

which  has  familiarized  our  ears  to  a  wrong  accentuation,  — 
as  Louis  XIV.  is  said  to  have  changed  the  gender  of  the 
word  carrosse. 

1  Known  in  literature  as  Richard  Monckton  Milnes. 
16 


242  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1876. 

C.   is   out   yachting   in   this   rather    rude    and    rough 
weather.     What  different  tastes  there  are  in  this  world ! 


November  1.  Dr.  Charles  Appleton,  of  London,  editor  of 
the  Academy,  passed  the  evening  with  us.  A  very  intel 
ligent  and  agreeable  young  man. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  25,  1875. 

A  Merry  Christmas  to  all  in  the  Windmill  Cottage ! 

Houghton  has  just  sent  me  your  new  book  [The  Ger 
man  Element  in  the  Eevolution],  and  a  very  handsome 
book  it  is,  —  paper,  page,  type,  and  binding.  This  is  an 
outside  view ;  alas !  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  take  an 
inside  one.  Had  I  foreseen  the  labor  of  getting  the 
Poems  of  Places  through  the  press,  I  should  never  have 
had  the  courage  to  undertake  it.  Making  the  selections 
was  pleasant,  and  not  fatiguing.  To  get  it  all  printed  cor 
rectly  is  quite  another  matter.  I  might  have  given  the 
time  to  Michael  Angelo.  Now  he  must  wait,  —  which  is 
a  pity. 

January  29,  1876.  Translated  a  poem  of  Gustave  Le 
Vavasseur,  Vire  et  les  Virois. 

30th.  Translated  a  poem  of  Me'ry,  Sur  la  terrasse  des 
Aygalades. 

To  Isaac  McLellan. 

February  6,  1876. 

You  will  pardon  me,  I  know,  for  not  sooner  thanking 
you  for  your  letter  and  pamphlet,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
have  again  been  suffering  from  my  old  enemy,  neuralgia. 
It  damages  my  correspondence  and  throws  everything  into 
confusion.  I  have  to  begin  every  letter  with  an  apology. 


1876.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  243 

Mr.  Lossing's  pamphlet  on  the  surrender  of  Detroit  I  read 
with  great  interest.  He  makes  out  a  very  strong  case ; 
and  I  am  glad  to  see  the  old  General  Hull,  your  grandsire, 
so  ably  vindicated.  I  hope  you  are  having  as  fine  a  winter 
on  your  [Shelter]  Island  as  we  have.  I  see  you  in  imagi 
nation  tramping  with  your  gun  and  dogs  over  the  frozen 
marshes,  eager  for  any  birds  that  have  not  been  wise 
enough  to  migrate  southward  at  this  season.  "  Straight  a 
short  thunder  breaks  the  frozen  sky,"  and  the  beautiful 
creatures  "  fall  and  leave  their  little  lives  in  air." 

Meanwhile,  I  sit  here  by  the  fire,  busy  with  the  reading 
and  the  making  of  books,  —  not  so  healthy  a  recreation  as 
yours,  perhaps,  but  more  congenial  to  my  tastes. 


February  7th.  Mr.  Winter  and  Mr.  McCulloch,  the 
tragedian,  called  in  the  afternoon. 

8th.  At  lunch  Miss  M and  Mme.  Teresa  Careno 

Sauret,  the  pianist,  —  a  handsome  Spanish  woman  from 
Caraccas  in  Venezuela. 

13th.  A  wonderful  winter  day:  the  air  soft  and  wind 
less  ;  thermometer  at  60° ;  the  river  at  its  best  and  fullest, 
as  in  an  Indian  summer. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

February  27,  1876. 

In  presence  of  the  prettiest  wreath  of  flowers  ever 
wreathed  by  human  hands,  I  hasten  to  thank  the  donor. 

All  this  morning  the  well-known  lines  of  Willis,  { I  'm 
twenty-one,  I'  m  twenty-one,'  have  been  running  through 
my  mind,  intermingled  with  Hood's  '  I  remember,  I  remem 
ber,'  and  a  strange  confusion  of  figures ;  so  that  I  hardly 
know  whether  I  am  sixty-nine  years  old,  or  only  ninety- 
six  !  Nobody  remembers  when  he  was  born,  consequently 


244  LETTERS.  [1876. 

we  never  know  when  we  have  grown  old.  When  some 
body  said  of  Duels,  "  Le  vieux  Duels  est  tombd  en  en- 
fa'nce,"  a  friend  replied,  "  ISTon,  il  est  rentre  en  jeunesse." 
I  hope  I  shall  have  some  friend  to  say  the  same  of 
me. 

So  the  years  are  mingled  and  woven  together  like  the 
white  and  red  flowers  of  this  beautiful  garland,  for  which 
thanking  you  most  cordially,  I  am 

Your  young  and  old  friend. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  28,  1876. 

Pray  don't  let  those  unpleasant  thoughts  haunt  and 
torment  you.  Dismiss  them  from  your  mind  as  disagree 
able  guests.  Not  the  wrongs  done  to  us  harm  us,  only 
those  we  do  to  others.  You  cannot  afford  to  make  your 
self  unhappy  by  brooding  over  this  matter.  One's  only 
chance  of  quietude  is  in  banishing  all  things  that  disturb 
and  annoy. 

I  send  you  enclosed  an  advertisement  which  will  in 
terest  you.  You  remember  Wiggin  and  his  books.  I 
think  we  once  went  together  to  look  at  his  collection  in 
School  Street.  Drake's  library  is  also  to  be  sold  a  little 
later.  I  will  send  you  Catalogues  as  soon  as  I  get  them. 
You  can  then  do  as  I  do,  —  mark  the  books  you  think  you 
want,  close  the  Catalogue,  and  forget  all  about  it.  To 
imagine  you  have  bought  the  books  is,  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten,  as  good  as  buying  them.  Such  is  my  philosophy 
at  the  age  of  threescore  years  and  ten,  save  one.  I  am 
startled  to  think  how  old  I  am,  and  cannot  believe  it. 
There  must  be  a  mistake.  My  birthday  yesterday  was 
a  very  pleasant  one  ;  I  am  surrounded  with  flowers  as  if 
I  were  going  to  be  married,  or  buried.  I  send  you  a  son- 


1876.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  245 

net  I  wrote  on  the  occasion  ;  being  an  Arcadian,  of  course 
I  write  sonnets.1 

29th.  A  call  from  Madame  Titjens.  Wrote  a  sonnet, 
'  Midnight.' 

To  Miss  E.  S.  Phelps. 

March  12,  1876. 

1  fear  that  I  cannot  establish  by  any  historic  proof  the 
•identity  of  the  old  building  you  speak  of  in  your  kind  letter 

with  that  in  which  Evangeline  found  Gabriel.2  A  great 
many  years  ago,  strolling  through  the  streets  of  Philadel 
phia,  I  passed  an  old  almshouse  within  high  brick  walls, 
and  with  trees  growing  in  its  enclosure.  The  quiet  and  se 
clusion  of  the  place  —  "  the  reserve,"  as  your  poor  woman 
so  happily  said  —  impressed  me  deeply.  This  was  long 
before  the  poem  was  written  and  before  I  had  heard  the 
tradition  on  which  it  was  founded.  But  remembering 
the  place,  I  chose  it  for  the  final  scene.  .  .  .  The  cottage  I 
do  not  remember;  only  an  enclosure,  with  tall  trees  and 
brick  walls, — just  enough  for  the  imagination  to  work 
upon. 

March  28.  There  are  unlucky  days,  and  this  is  one  of 
them.  After  breakfast  a  lot  of  unpleasant  letters.  Then 
an  old  nurse  who  had  been  here  in  sickness  came  and  laid 
her  hand  too  roughly  on  a  wound  that  will  never  heal. 
Then  I  went  to  the  printing-office  to  hunt  up  a  book 

1  When  he  was  in  Italy  in  1869  Mr.  Longfellow  had  been  made 
a  member  of  the  Arcadia,  —  a  literary  Society  founded  in  1690  by 
Crescimbeni  and  others.  In  this  Society  each  member  assumes  some 
classic  pastoral  name. 

2  The  "  Quaker  almshouses,"  the  remains  of  which  were  taken 
down  at  this  time,  were  not  the  scene  which  the  author  of  '  Evan 
geline'  had  in  his  mind. 


246  LETTERS.  [1876. 

which  they  have  lost,  and  cannot  find ;  then  to  see  Os- 
good  about  publishing  John  Neal's  '  Seventy-six/  and  find 
he  has  gone  to  New  York ;  then  to  a  tailor's,  and  read  on 
his  door,  "Bemoved  to  290,"  —  which  number  cannot  be 
found.  Then  I  returned  home  to  find  a  clamorous  woman 
with  a  book  to  sell ;  I  can  stop  her  only  by  buying  the 
book,  which  I  do  not  want.  All  this  before  five  o'clock, 
and  interspersed  with  hand-organs  ! 1 


To  J.  R  Lowell. 

May  4,  1876. 

I  shall  be  delighted  to  dine  with  you  on  Saturday  at 
six,  and  to  meet  your  guest  from  Baltimore,  whose  name 
suggests  the  Hesperides,  as  I  doubt  not  her  presence  does. 

I  understand  perfectly  your  mood  of  mind  in  revising 
your  poems  for  a  new  edition.2  You  were  looking  after 
"  crimes  and  misdemeanors,"  like  a  policeman  with  a  dark 
lantern,  determined  to  arrest  somebody.  I  hope  you  will 
be  sparing  of  omissions  and  corrections.  As  a  general 
rule,  I  think  that  poems  had  better  be  left  as  they  were 
written ;  their  imperfections  are  often  only  imaginary. 

Do  not  fail  to  have  an  index  to  the  new  volume. 

1  Nevertheless,  the  hand-organists  were  never  sent  away  without 
due  pennies,  —  perhaps,  in  part,  because  they  came  from  Italy. 

2  Mr.  Lowell  had  written  to  him,  "  I  had  such  a  pleasure  yester 
day  that  I  should  like  to  share  it  with  you,  to  whom  I  owed  it. 
Osgood  and  Co.  sent  me  a  copy  of  your  Household  Edition,  to  show 
me  what  it  was,  as  they  propose  one  of  me.     I  had  been  reading  over 
with  dismay  my  own  poems,  to  weed  out  the  misprints,  and  was  aw 
fully  disheartened.     Then  I  took  up  your  book,  to  see  the  type  ;  and 
before  I  knew  it  I  had  been  reading  two  hours  and  more.     I  never 
wondered  at  your  popularity,  nor  thought  it  wicked  in  you  ;  but  if  I 
had  wondered,  I  should  no  longer,  for  you  sang  me  out  of  all  my 
worries.     To  be  sure,  they  came  back  when  I  opened  my  own  book 
again,  —  but  that  was  no  fault  of  yours." 


1876.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  247 

May  16-21.  A  week  with  Mr.  Childs  at  Philadelphia, 
and  a  week  in  the  country  at  Kosemont,  near  Bryn  Mawr. 
A  charming  vacation,  with  all  the  wonders  of  the  Centen 
nial  Exhibition.1 

June  10.  Dona  Pedro  II.,  Emperor  of  Brazil,  dined 
with  us.  The  other  guests  were  Emerson,  Holmes,  Agas- 
siz,  and  Appleton.  Dom  Pedro  is  the  modern  Haroun-al- 
Piaschid,  and  is  wandering  about  to  see  the  great  world 
%ve  live  in,  as  simple  traveller,  not  as  king.  He  is  a 
hearty,  genial,  noble  person,  very  liberal  in  his  views. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  11,  1876. 

Yesterday,  Dom  Pedro  of  Brazil,  the  modern  Haroun- 
al-Easchid,  did  me  the  honor  to  dine  with  me,  naming  the 
persons  he  would  like  to  meet,  —  Emerson,  Lowell,  and 
Holmes.  Lowell  was  out  of  town;  but  the  other  two 
came,  and  the  dinner  was  very  jovial  and  pleasant. 

The  first  volume  of  Poems  of  Places  is  printed;  but  I  see 
no  notice  yet  of  its  publication,  and  do  not  know  when  it 
will  appear.  It  is  to  come  out  volume  by  volume,  and 
not  all  at  once.2 

I  hope  you  are  enjoying  the  summer  weather  as  much 
as  I  am.  I  should  be  deliciously  idle,  were  it  not  for  the 
incessant  letter-writing  forced  upon  me.  That  embitters 
my  existence,  and  I  suppose  will  to  the  end.  I  mean  now 
to  have  an  amanuensis,  and  only  sign  my  name.  I  must 
come  to  it,  though  it  is  almost  as  bad  as  using  spectacles, 
which  I  have  not  yet  come  to. 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  had  been  invited  to  read  an  ode  at  the  opening 
of  the  Exhibition.     He  declined,  being  always  unwilling  to  write  for 
public  occasions.     The  ode  was  written  by  Mr.  Sidney  Lanier  ;  and 
Mr.  Whittier  wrote  the  hymn  which  was  sung. 

2  It  extended  to  thirty-three  small  volumes. 


248  LETTERS.  [1876. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  21,  1876. 

I  send  for  your  amusement  some  nonsense-verses  on  a 
servant  who  had  just  broken  two  beautiful  Japan  vases 
in  her  headlong  hurry. 

EPITAPH 
On  a  Maid-of-all-Work. 


Hie  jacet  ancilla 

Quae  omnia  egit, 
Et  nihil  tetigit 

Quod  non  fregit.1 

This  afternoon  the  girls  give  W.,  the  graduating  senior, 
a  garden-party.  The  house  is  full  of  his  friends  already. 

Have  you  seen  a  book  by  H.  M.  Dexter,  just  published 
in  Boston,  entitled,  As  to  Eoger  Williams  ?  It  might  be 
of  use  to  you  in  your  work. 

What  do  you  and  the  Governor  think  of  the  Presiden 
tial  nomination  at  Cincinnati  ?  Does  he  know  Mr.  Hayes 
personally  ? 

This  letter  is  only  a  column  of  items.  I  am  so  inter 
rupted  and  distraught,  I  can  do  no  better. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  28,  1876. 

Eather  exhausting  than  otherwise  is  this  hot  weather ; 
it  always  comes  in  June.  The  longest  days  will  assert 

1  For  those  who  have  "forgotten  their  Latin,"  this  version  must 

suffice :  — 

Here  a  maid-of-all-work 

Her  rest  doth  take  ; 
When  alive,  she  touched  nothing 

She  did  not  break. 

And  those  who  have  forgotten  their  Goldsmith  may  be  reminded 
of  the  "  nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit "  in  his  epitaph  by  Dr. 
Johnson. 


1876.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 

their  right  to  be  the  hottest.  But  it  will  soon  be  over. 
If  the  thermometer  would  only  keep  pace  with  our  years 
after  sixty,  it  would  be  very  comfortable ;  for  I  suppose  a 
man  of  ninety  would  not  have  any  serious  objections  to 
keep  his  thermometer  at  that  level. 

To-day  I  attended  Commencement  in  the  new  theatre. 
It  was  a  strange  sensation  to  be  walking  with  Lowell,  who 
wore  my  old  professorial  gown ! 

For  the  last  fortnight  we  have  had  the  house  brimful 
of  people.  It  is  very  pleasant,  but  something  of  an  in 
terruption  to  one's  every-day  pursuits. 

Eeading  yesterday  the  Briefe  von  Johann  Heinrich  Voss, 
the  poet,  I  came  upon  a  sketch  of  Andre  when  he  was  a 
lieutenant  and  a  student  at  Gottingen.  Voss  wrote  a 
poem  to  him,  and  calls  him  "der  liebenswiirdigste  und 
edelste  Jiingling,  und  einer  meiner  besten  Freunde.  .  .  . 
Er  nahm  mit  Thranen  Abschied  von  mir ; "  being  sud 
denly  called  away,  "weil  sein  Eegiment  nach  America 
2eht."  l 


August  31.  The  son  and  daughter  of  the  Bishop  of 
Carlisle  at  dinner. 

September  3.  Mr.  Black,  author  of  the  Princess  of 
Thule,  and  other  novels,  called ;  and  Dr.  Lauder  Brunton ; 
also  Mr.  E.  Lyulph  Stanley,  with  his  sister  and  two 
gentlemen. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  10,  1876. 

"  Sweet  is  it  to  write  the  end  of  any  book,"  says  the  old 
Transcriber.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  near  the  end  of  yours. 
When  it  is  finished,  take  a  long  vacation. 

1  "  The  most  lovable  and  noble  youth,  one  of  my  *best  friends. 
He  took  leave  of  me  with  tears  when  his  regiment  was  ordered  to 
America." 


250  LETTERS.  [1876. 

In  regard  to  ether,  and  the  inhalation  thereof,  I  beg  you 
not  to  "  listen  with  credulity  to  the  whispers  of  fancy." 
It  will  not  do  me  any  harm,  —  for  I  am  not  taking  it. 

A  foolish  man  in  Elniira  has  done  me  the  honor  of 
writing  what  he  calls  a  "  Paraphrase  of  the  Courtship  of 
Miles  Standish,"  —  which  paraphrase  consists  in  altering 
the  lines  enough  to  make  them  rhyme !  I  suggested  to 
him  that  perhaps  he  might  have  employed  his  time  and 
talent  more  profitably  in  writing  an  original  work. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  29,  1876. 

The  Poems  of  Places  plod  slowly  on  and  on.  We  have 
reached  Lammermoor,  in  Scotland,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
when  Her  Majesty's  dominions  are  finished,  and  we  can 
go  to  the  Continent.  Have  you  been  able  to  get  out  of 
Ehode  Island,  or  are  you  still  a  prisoner?  I  hope  no 
future  historian,  reading  these  lines,  will  imagine  that  we 
are  defaulters  trying  to  evade  the  Extradition  Treaty ! 

I  have  a  letter  from  Tennyson,  enclosing  a  paragraph 
from  the  Times,  which  says  that  he  and  his  publishers 
had  refused  their  permission  to  insert  any  of  his  poems  in 
my  collection. 

The  letter  is  as  follows :  — 

"  Here  in  a  little  country  town  in  Suffolk  I  came  upon  this  in  the 
Times.  I  have  had  no  word  from  yourself  or  Messrs.  King  and  Co. 
about  your  forthcoming  publication.  They  have  my  copyright  in 
England  for  two  years  longer  ;  but  in  America  I  give  you  full  leave, 
and  shall  be  honored  by  your  insertion  of  anything  of  mine  in  your 
collection." 

At  present  I  am  overwhelmed  with  visitors,  some  with 
letters  of  %  introduction,  more  without.  Luckily  I  am 
pretty  well ;  but,  alas  !  I  cannot  sleep. 


1876.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  251 

October  11.  At  Wellesley  College.  Eead  to  the  girls 
'The  Descent  of  the  Muses'  [a  sonnet]. 

To  Mrs.  Marshall  {in  England).1 

November  18,  1876. 

...  It  may  comfort  you  to  know  that  I  have  had 
twenty-two  publishers  in  England  and  Scotland,  and  only 
four  of  them  ever  took  the  slightest  notice  of  my  exist 
ence,  even  so  far  as  to  send  me  a  copy  of  the  books.  Shall 
we  call  that  "  chivalry,"  —  or  the  other  word  ?  Some  good 
comes  of  it,  after  all ;  for  it  is  an  advertisement,  and  surely 
helps  what  follows.  It  gives  you  thousands  of  readers 
instead  of  hundreds. 


In  November  of  this  year  there  appeared  in  the  Inter 
national  Eeview  a  full  and  discriminating  critique  upon 
Mr.  Longfellow's  writings,  by  the  Eev.  Eay  Palmer.  Dr. 
Palmer  communicated  to  Mr.  Longfellow  this  extract 
from  a  letter  written  to  him  by  Mr.  Bryant:  — 

"  I  think  that  you  have  done  a  service  to  American  literature  in 
your  admirable  review  of  Longfellow's  Poetical  Works.  You  have 
given  a  more  perfect  analysis  of  their  character  than  I  have  before 
seen,  and  you  have  praised  them,  as  they  deserve  to  be  praised,  gen 
erously  and  warmly.  It  is  delightful  to  see  a  poet  of  such  eminent 
merits,  and  such  freedom  from  the  faults  that  infect  the  poetry  of 
the  day,  commended  with  so  much  emphasis  and  decision.  I  am 
glad  that  you  entered  so  emphatic  a  protest  against  criticising,  as 
many  do,  by  comparison,  —  which  is  the  easy  resort  of  those  who 
have  no  standard  of  judgment  in  their  own  minds." 

This  cordial  tribute  of  the  elder  poet  seemed  of  suffi 
cient  interest  to  be  preserved  here.  Somewhat  later  in 

1  Whose  books  had  been  republished  in  America  without  permis 
sion  or  compensation.  For  want  of  an  international  copyright  Mr. 
Longfellow  himself  is  believed  to  have  been  a  loser  by  some  forty 
thousand  dollars.  This  measure  of  simple  justice  to  the  writers  of 
both  countries  is  still  delayed. 


252  LETTERS.  [1876. 

the  year  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  to  Mr.  Tennyson  of  the 
pleasure  he  had  received  from  reading  his  drama,  Harold. 
In  reply  Mr.  Tennyson  wrote :  — 

"  Thanks  for  your  generous  letter.  I  have  had  many  congratu 
latory  ones  about  Harold,  but  scarce  any  that  I  shall  prize  like 
yours.  [You  ask]  '  What  old  ancestor  spoke  through  you  1 '  I  fear 
none  of  mine  fought  for  England  on  the  hill  of  Senlac,  for,  as  far  as 
I  know,  I  am  part  Dane,  part  Norman.  When  are  you  —  or  are  you 
ever —  coming  to  England  ?  We  are  both  getting  old,  —  I  am,  I  be 
lieve,  the  older  of  the  two  ;  but  I  hope  that  we  shall  come  together 
again  before  we  pass  away  forever," 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

JOURNAL  AND   LETTERS. 

1877. 

January  1.  At  the  Boston  Theatre  to  see  the  first 
representation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter,  dramatized  from 
Hawthorne's  story.  Mrs.  Lander  as  Hester  Prynne. 

2d.  Snow,  deep  snow.  A  lovely  sunset.  Winter  sun 
sets  are  more  delicate  than  any  others. 

4th.  Martin  Farquhar  Tupper  at  luncL  Asked  him 
to  dinner  on  Saturday. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

January  14,  1877. 

I  have  to  thank  you  for  three  things.  The  first  is  the 
beautiful  poem,  which  is  simple,  tender,  and  true;  the 
second  is  your  kindness  in  writing  to  Mrs.  Thaxter,  from 
whom  I  have,  in  consequence,  a  letter ;  and  the  third  is 
your  amiable  conduct  in  promising  to  come  to  supper 
with  Miss  Doria,  after  her  concert  on  Wednesday. 

In  return  for  these  three  things  I  will  tell  you  a  pleas 
ant  piece  of  news. 

Now,  I  might  keep  you  waiting  and  guessing  through 
three  long  pages,  as  Madame  de  SeVigne*  did  her  daughter 
when  she  announced  to  her  the  engagement  of  the  Grande 
Mademoiselle.  But  I  am  not  Madame  de  SeVigne*,  and  I 
will  not  do  it.  I  will  only  lead  you  gently  down  to  the 
bottom  of  this  page,  as  down  a  hillside  covered  with  snow 


254  LETTERS.  [1877. 

in  which  some  one  is  fast  making  footprints,  and  say  that 
Kichard  Dana  is  the  youth.  .  .  . 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  14,  1877. 

I  have  a  pleasant  bit  of  news  to  send  you  from  Craigie 
House,  which  I  know  will  interest  you.  .  .  .  And  so  there 
is  to  be  a  new  '  Hanging  of  the  Crane,'  — 

"  with  dexter  auguries, 
And  all  the  wing'd  good  omens  of  the  skies." 

I  say  no  more,  having  learned  the  great  art  of  leaving  off 
in  time.  You  cannot  improve  a  sonnet  by  making  it  more 
than  fourteen  lines  long. 

And  speaking  of  sonnets  reminds  me  to  send  you  this 
on  the  Ehone,  and  with  it  some  lines  on  the  Kiver  Yvette. 
They  were  written  to  fill  blank  pages  in  Poems  of  Places. 
Perhaps  you  will  think  the  pages  had  better  have  been 
left  blank.  The  printer  thinks  otherwise,  and  feebly 
flatters  me,  so  that  I  may  be  ready  to  meet  other  emer 
gencies  of  the  kind. 

Welch  [the  gardener]  on  America  :  "  This  is  not  a  good 
country,  sorr !  One  half  the  year  you  are  an  icicle,  and 
the  other  half  you  are  boiled."  This  is  not  so  conciliatory 
and  flattering  as  the  Proverbial  Philosopher,  who  says  we 
are  improving. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  15,  1877. 

I  went  into  my  library  this  morning  and  found  three 
damsels  sitting  by"  the  fire ;  one  of  them  was  reading  aloud 
from  a  volume  on  her  knee.  I  asked  what  book  it  was, 
and  she  answered,  "  The  Life  of  General  Greene."  It  was 
a  pretty  picture,  and  would  have  pleased  the  author,  had 
he  seen  it.  This  is  the  only  thing  of  importance  that  has 


1877.]  LETTERS.  255 

occurred  in  our  household  since  I  wrote  you  last.  But 
as  that  was  yesterday,  and  as  to-day  we  have  a  snowstorm, 
there  has  been  little  chance  for  anything  to  happen.  All 
our  adventures,  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's,  have  been 
by  the  fireside. 

Dr.  Johnson  said  that  the  tragedy  of  Coriolanus  was 
one  of  the  author's  most  amusing  performances.  Were 
he  now  living,  he  could  say  the  same  of  "  Washington,  a 
Drama  in  Five  Acts."  It  is  truly  an  amusing  perform 
ance,  —  or  will  be  if  it  is  ever  performed. 

And  the  History,  —  is  all  going  on  smoothly  ?  A  young 
publisher,  with  few  books  to  care  for,  is  better  than  an  old 
one  with  many.  The  terms  he  offers  are  much  better  than 
I  get.  It  is  half-past  ten  ;  so  good-night. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  24,  1877. 

Do  you  remember  our  visit  to  Ischia,  in  1829,  —  nearly 
fifty  years  ago  ?  I  never  think  of  that  island  without 
thinking  of  you ;  and  when  I  saw  it  last,  in  1869,  I  re 
membered  our  being  there  together.  Therefore  I  hope 
you  will  like  the  enclosed  lines  ['  Vittoria  Colonna ']  which 
I  have  written  for  Poems  of  Places.  If  you  see  how  and 
where  they  can  be  mended,  let  me  know  it.  Inarime  was 
one  of  the  old  names  of  Ischia. 

My  turtle-doves  are  as  happy  as  we  used  to  be  under 
similar  circumstances.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  them  so 
joyous  and  free  from  care. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January,  1877. 

Have  you  begun  printing  your  History  [of  Ehode 
Island]  ?  I  imagine  you  sitting  in  your  study,  wrapped 
in  your  dressing-gown  and  reading  proof-sheets  with  that 


256  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877- 

gentle  feeling  of  complacency  with  which  an  artist  sees 
his  plaster  cast  put  into  marble.  I  have  just  taken  my 
morning  draft  of  the  Daily  Advertiser,  and  send  you  a 
mouthful.  It  is  a  notice  of  Baron  de  Worms's  book  on 
the  Eastern  Question,  and  gives  a  simple,  straightforward 
view  of  the  whole  matter,  —  the  best  I  have  yet  seen. 
The  remainder  of  this  day  I  intend  to  devote  to  writing  a 
poem  on  the  French  fleet  that  sailed  from  Brest  in  1746 
to  ravage  the  New  England  coast  and  avenge  Louisbourg. 
So  farewell.1 

February  1.  A  call  from  Mr.  Dennett,  author  of  Louisi 
ana  as  it  is.  He  gave  me  a  fascinating  account  of  the 
State.  A  day  of  spring  ;  the  icy  fetters  fall  off. 

To  E.  H.  Dana,  Jr.2 

February  26,  1877. 

I  certainly  would,  if  it  were  possible,  but  I  do  not  see 
how  it  can  be  done.  There  is  not  time.  If  I  were  an 
Italian  improvisatore,  I  might  do  it ;  but  as  I  am  only  an 
American  professore,  I  cannot.  Anything  to  reach  Ger- 

1  The  Rev.  E.  E.  Hale  had  written  to  Mr.  Longfellow  :  "  You  told 
me  that  if  the  spirit  moved,  you  would  try  to  sing  us  a  song  for  the 
Old  South  Meeting-house.    I  have  found  such  a  charming  story  that  I 
think  it  will  really  tempt  you.    I  want  at  least  to  tell  it  to  you.  .  .  . 
The  whole  story  of  the  fleet  is  in  Hutchinson's  Massachusetts,  ii.  384, 
385.     The  story  of  Prince  and  the  prayer  is  in  a  tract  in  the  College 
Library,  which  I  will  gladly  send  you,  or  Mr.  Sibley  will.     I  should 
think  that  the  assembly  in  the  meeting-house  in  the  gale,  and  then 
the  terror  of  the  fleet  when  the  gale  struck  them,  would  make  a 
ballad  —  if  the   spirit   moved  !  "     This   ancient  building,  with   its 
historic  memories,  was  in  danger  of  being  demolished. 

2  Mr.  Longfellow  had  been  asked  to  write  something  to  be  read  at 
a  meeting  in  Stutgard  for  the  purpose  of  erecting  a  monument  to 
Ferdinand  Freiligrath.     He  sent  a  handsome  contribution  to  this 
memorial  of  his  friend. 


1877-]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  257 

many  by  the  middle  of  March  should  leave  here  by  the 
first.  I  should  be  unwilling  to  present  myself  with  a 
poor  production  on  such  an  occasion,  and  it  would  be 
poor  enough  if  written  between  now  and  the  first  of 
March. 

27th.  My  seventieth  birthday.  My  study  is  a  garden 
of  flowers  ;  salutations  and  friendly  greetings  from  far  and 
near.  I  have  a  whole  box  full  of  letters  and  poems. 

To  G.  W.  Curtis. 

February  28,  1877. 

I  hasten  to  respond  to  your  cordial  and  affectionate 
greeting  on  my  birthday,  arid  to  say  how  delightful  it  was 
to  hear  such  words  from  you.  It  was  almost  as  good  as 
seeing  you  ;  but  not  quite. 

It  is  a  strange  feeling,  this  of  being  seventy  years  old. 
I  cannot  say  precisely  what  the  feeling  is,  —  but  you  will 
know  one  of  these  days.  It  is  something  like  that  of  a 
schoolboy  who  has  filled  one  side  of  his  slate  with  the  fig 
ures  of  a  very  long  sum,  and  has  to  turn  the  slate  over  to 
go  on  with  it. 

Poor  T. !  it  is  really  sad  to  see  him  so  disabled.  He  keeps, 
however,  very  merry  for  the  most  part,  and  has  written 
by  dictation  one  or  two  little  books  while  lying  on  his 
back.1  

March  10.  Greene,  who  came  for  my  birthday,  went 
home  this  afternoon.  He  is  my  oldest  friend  living,  and 
always  a  welcome  guest. 

13th.  A  snow-storm.  Good  for  writing  letters.  I  have 
too  many  to  write.  Sometimes  a  single  mail  brings  me 

•  l  It  was  while  lamed  by  a  fall  upon  the  ice  that  Mr.  Appleton 
wrote  in  this  way  his  Syrian  Sunshine,  and  his  Windfalls. 


258  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877- 

fifteen.  My  time  is  taken  up  in  answering  them.  I  no 
sooner  sit  down  to  meditate  upon  something  I  have  in 
mind,  than  I  am  haunted  by  the  spectre  of  some  unan 
swered  letter,  and  start  up,  exclaiming :  "  Ha,  ha,  boy  ! 
say'st  thou  so  ?  Art  thou  there,  truepenny  ?  " 

To  G.  W.  Childs. 

March  13,  1877. 

You  do  not  know  yet  what  it  is  to  be  seventy  years 
old.  I  will  tell  you,  so  that  you  may  not  be  taken  by 
surprise  when  your  turn  comes.  It  is  like  climbing  the 
Alps.  You  reach  a  snow-crowned  summit,  and  see  behind 
you  the  deep  valley  stretching  miles  and  miles  away,  and 
before  you  other  summits  higher  and  whiter,  which  you 
may  have  strength  to  climb,  or  may  not.  Then  you  sit 
down  and  meditate  and  wonder  which  it  will  be.  That  is 
the  whole  story,  amplify  it  as  you  may.  All  that  one  can 
say  is,  that  life  is  opportunity. 


April  1.  Easter.  If  the  sun  is  "  dancing  in  the 
heavens,"  he  is  doing  it  behind  the  clouds.  Only  one 
level  gleam  at  sunset  lit  up  the  landscape  for  a  moment. 

2d.  Almost  a  pleasant  day,  after  much  rain.  A  visit 
from  Fields,  always  cheery  and  cheering. 

6th.  A  visit  from  Professor  Packard,  the  only  survivor 
of  my  old  instructors  and  colleagues.  With  him  his  son, 
a  naturalist. 

7th.  In  the  afternoon  Charles  Norton  called.  We 
talked  of  Ruskin  and  Carlyle,  and  of  Lowell's  having 
the  English  mission. 

10th.  Two  Scotch  ladies  called.  Then  Mr.  Clark 
brought  me  a  copy  of  Prang's  splendid  portfolio  of  the 
"Yellowstone  National  Park," — a  wonderful  region,  look 
ing  more  like  fairy-land  than  anything  on  earth.  Then  a 


1877.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  259 

pleasant  call  from  Miss ,  who  has  chosen  the  medical 

profession  for  her  career,  and  is  going  to  Germany,  as  the 
Harvard  Medical  School  does  not  admit  women. 

12th.  Lieutenant  Arseniew,  of  the  Russian  Navy,  at 
lunch.  A  pleasant,  modest  youth.  He  gave  me  some 
poems  in  English  by  his  sister.  How  these  Russians  mas 
ter  foreign  tongues  !  They  are  taught  in  their  childhood. 

19th.  Evening  at  the  Opera.  Beethoven's  Fidelia,  with 
Mme.  PappGiiheim  as  Fidelio.  The  music  splendid,  but 
the  subject  of  the  most  lugubrious  and  dismal  kind.  The 
scene  passes  wholly  in  a  prison.  Fidelio  helps  to  dig  her 
husband's  grave  in  an  old  cistern  in  a  dungeon. 

21st.  In  the  morning  arranging  Fooms  of  Places  for 
Syria.  In  the  evening  read  over  again  Chodzko's  Persian 
Poetry,  and  designed  a  poem,  '  The  Leap  of  Kurroglou.' 

To  Benjamin  Alvord. 

April  26,  1877. 

I  hasten  to  thank  you  for  your  letter  and  for  the  num 
ber  of  "  Nature  "  containing  the  article  on  the  compass- 
plant.  In  quoting  from  '  Evangeline,'  the  writer  has  used 
the  earlier  editions  ;  in  the  later  ones  the  passage  has 
been  somewhat  changed.  As  soon  as  I  saw  the  compass- 
plant  [in  the  Cambridge  Botanical  Garden]  I  saw  my  error, 
and  for  "  delicate  plant "  substituted  "  vigorous  plant,"  and 
for  "  on  its  fragile  stalk  "  the  words  "  in  the  houseless 
wild."  This  puts  the  matter  right,  botanically  speaking. 

I  hope  that  you  are  also  the  vigorous  plant  I  remember, 
though  so  many  years  have  gone  since  we  met.  I  am 
sorry  not  to  have  seen  you  at  Philadelphia.  Do  not  let 
your  good  resolve  to  write  a  paper  on  the  compass-plant 
slumber  too  long.  It  could  not  fail  to  be  interesting  and 
valuable.1 

1  An  article  by  General  Alvord  will  be  found  in  the  American 

Naturalist  for  August,  1882. 


260  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877. 

27th.  Mrs. calls  to  talk  with  me  about  the  '  Build 
ing  of  the  Ship  ; '  she  is  going  to  read  it  in  public.  She 
is  German,  and  has  a  strong  accent ;  she  calls  it  "  The 
Lunch  of  the  Sheep." 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  29,  1877. 

To-day  I  have  been  reading  Sumner's  letters  from  Italy. 
They  are  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  exhibit  the  softer  and 
more  poetical  side  of  his  character,  —  a  side  so  little 
known  or  dreamed  of  by  most  people.  He  speaks  of  you 
often,  and  never  without  a  caress. 

What  a  devourer  of  books  he  was  !  It  amazes  me  to 
see  the  extent  of  his  reading  in  four  summer  months.  He 
brought  away  from  Italy  a  vast  amount  of  knowledge  ; 
while  I  brought  away  little  more  than  memories  and  im 
pressions,  —  a  kind  of  golden  atmosphere,  which  has  al 
ways  illuminated  my  life.  Perhaps  we  were  both  wiser 
than  we  knew.  Each  assimilated  to  himself  what  best 
served  his  purpose  afterward. 


May  1.  It  is  pleasant  to  write  the  name  of  May,  though 
one  may  have  nothing  more  to  say  about  it. 

2d.  Ole  Bull,  with  his  wife  and  her  brother,  dined  with 
us. 

7th.  Trying  to  write  a  poem  on  the  Potter's  Wheel,  — • 
a  poem  of  Ceramic  Art. 

8th.  A  day  of  musical  dissipation.  In  the  afternoon 
at  Mme.  Essipoff  s  concert ;  and  in  the  evening  at  Miss 
Amy  Fay's. 

9th.  A  very  tardy  and  reluctant  spring.  A  letter  from 
William  Allingham. 

10th.  My  holiday,  with  all  its  memories  of  thirty-four 
years  !  Wrote  a  sonnet  on  '  Holidays.' 


1877.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  261 

11  tli.  A  lovely  spring  day.  A  mist  aud  shadow  of  ten 
der  leaves  over  all  the  landscape. 

12th.  The  lovely  weather  continues,  and  makes  me  as 
lazy  as  Maxentius,  who  could  not,  or  would  not,  walk  even 
in  the  shade  of  his  own  portico. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  28,  1877. 

What  a  dripping  month  of  May  we  have  had  !  But  to 
day  the  Spring  comes  out  with  all  her  lilacs  in  bloom,  and 
all  her  horse-chestnut  tapers  lighted. 

When  you  come  to  Cambridge,  you  will  find  George 
Washington 1  brought  down  from  his  station  on  the  stairs, 
and  standing  in  the  hall  below,  where  he  can  be  better 
seen.  In  his  place  you  will  see  an  old  Dutch  clock,  whose 
silver  chimes  will  lull  you  to  sleep  at  night.  At  the  half- 
hours  it  strikes  the  coming  hour,  to  give  timely  warning 
The  hours  are  struck  on  a  larger  bell,  and  the  chimes 
"  shiver  the  air  into  a  mist  of  sound."  On  top  is  a 
figure  of  Time,  with  scythe  and  hour-glass,  attended  by 
four  other  figures,  representing  the  seasons,  —  all  beauti 
fully  carved  in  wood.  This  is  my  latest  plaything. 

Fields  was  here  yesterday.  When  you  come,  we  are  to 
have  a  dinner  at  the  Brunswick,  with  yourself,  Emerson, 
Holmes,  and  Appleton. 


June  1.  In  the  afternoon  a  beautiful  basket  of  flowers 
from  pupils  of  the  Lasell  Seminary  at  Auburndale,  in 
return  for  an  autograph  copy  of  a  Sonnet. 

2d.  Eeading  the  Frogs  of  Aristophanes,  I  was  struck 
with  the  thought  that  it  was  a  good  introduction  for  the 
second  part  of  Faust. 

1  A  cast  from  Houdon's  bust. 


262  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877. 

19th.  Sophocles  at  dinner,  bringing  with  him  two 
bottles  of  Greek  wine. 

July  19  to  28.     In  Portland.1 

August  1.  Proofs  of  Poems  of  Places;  Germany.  A 
letter  from  Dr.  Kohl,  of  Bremen. 

2d.  Drove  to  Longwood  to  call  upon  Hillard.  In 
the  afternoon  a  call  from  two  ladies,  school-teachers  in 
Cincinnati. 

3d.  Eeceived  from  Harper  and  Brothers  one  thousand 
dollars  for  the  poem  '  Keramos ; '  that  is,  for  the  right  of 
first  publication  in  their  Magazine. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

August  3,  1877. 

When  you  played  your  first  card,  I  was  in  Portland, 
and  could  not  send  you  the  Sonnet.  Your  second  finds 
me  here ;  and  as  it  is  a  trump,  it  takes  the  Sonnet,  which 
you  will  find  enclosed.  Let  the  last  line  read,  "And 
lovely  as  a  landscape  in  a  dream." 

The  poem  '  Ke'ramos '  has  gone  to  the  Harpers,  who 
will  harp  it  in  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  households, 
or  say  half  a  million  ears,  —  if  they  will  listen  to  such 
music  as  comes  from  a  potter's  wheel. 

I  am  too  busy  to  come  to  Manchester,  or  even  to  think 
of  it.  I  must  get  these  Poems  of  Places  finished  with  all 
possible  speed ;  and  if  I  go  away,  it  stops  the  machinery. 
When  you  next  come  to  town,  try  to  come  as  far  as 
Cambridge. 

Driving  through  Charles  Street  yesterday,  I  looked  out 

1  "  In  Portland,"  he  wrote  a  friend,  "  I  bought  a  copy  of  Plu 
tarch's  Lives,  in  Latin,  printed  in  Venice  in  1496.  I  believe  this  is 
my  first  purchase  of  a  book  on  account  of  its  age.  I  already  begin  to 
suspect  that  the  date  has  been  altered  from  1596.  The  4  has  a 
doubtful  look." 


1877-]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  263 

for  you,  but  did  not  see  you,  —  because,  like  the  Spanish 
fleet,  you  "  were  not  in  sight." 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

August  5,  1877. 

The  article  you  send  me  is  certainly  written  with  ma 
lice  prepense.  But  Seneca  says  that  malicious  people  have 
to  drink  most  of  their  own  venom.  The  way  to  make 
them  drink  all  of  it  is  to  take  no  notice  of  them  whatever. 
Your  reply  is  dignified  and  conclusive,  and  I  know  you 
would  not  have  made  it  except  for  the  sake  of  justice  and 
fair  dealing.  I  hope  you  will  adhere  to  your  resolution 
not  to  be  dragged  into  a  newspaper  controversy.  The 
book  is  its  own  defender,  and  will  fight  its  own  battles  if 
need  be ;  therefore  do  not  let  your  peace  of  mind  be  dis 
turbed.  The  clock  is  striking  half  past  five.  I  will  take 
a  walk  in  the  garden  before  dinner,  and  add  a  postscript 
after. 

P.  S.  —  Result  of  the  walk  in  the  garden :  I  find  that 
some  unknown  vagabonds  have  been  in  the  summer- 
house. 

6th.     Finished  '  The  Leap  of  Kurroglou.' 

8th.  A  lovely  summer  day;  I  wanted  to  be  in  many 
places  at  once. 

10th.  I  called  to  see  my  old  friend  Palfrey,  the  histo 
rian.  Found  him,  as  ever,  cordial  and  genial,  but  very 
feeble. 

llth.  A  letter  from  Mr. ,  of  Washington,  a  fierce 

and  "  un-reconstructed "  rebel,  and  an  entire  stranger, 
asking  me  to  defray  the  expense  of  publishing  his  Analyt 
ical  Essays  on  the  Great  Poets,  which  some  of  his  friends 
tell  him  are  "the  most  eloquent  and  beautiful  compositions 
in  the  English  language." 


264  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877- 

September  2.  A  splendid  autumn  day.  Miss  Sara  Jewett, 
the  actress,  called. 

3d.  Mr. called,  with  another  Englishman.  Speak 
ing  of  the  weather,  he  said :  "  It  is  quite  equal  to  anything 
we  have  in  England,  if  not  superior." 

5th.  At  lunch,  the  Eev.  W.  A.  S.,  of  New  College, 
Oxford,  with  his  father,  and  the  Eev.  Mr.  T.,  son  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  [introduced  by  Dean  Stanley], 
and  Mr.  W.,  a  young  barrister. 

6th.     Dr.  Playfair,  M.P.  for  St.  Andrews. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

September  9,  1877. 

I  am  so  busy  reading  your  new  book  that  I  cannot  find 
a  moment  to  thank  you  for  it.  I  stop  midway  in  the 
reading  to  say  it  is  charming.  I  hardly  know  which 
Essay  I  like  the  best.  Yes,  I  do ;  it  is  My  Friend's  Li 
brary,  —  the  longest,  and  yet  not  long  enough.  It  might 
be  drawn  out  like  an  extension-table ;  and  I  advise  you  to 
do  it. 

Thanks  and  congratulations.  The  book  will  be  a  favor 
ite,  and  you  will  incur  the  penalty  pronounced  in  Scripture 
when  all  men  speak  well  of  you. 

Do  you  know  how  to  apply  properly  for  an  autograph  ? * 
Here  is  a  formula  which  I  have  just  received  on  a  postal 
card :  — 

DEAR  SIR,  —  As  I  am  getting  a  collection  of  the  autographs  of 
all  honorable  and  worthy  men,  and  as  I  think  yours  such,  I  hope 
you  will  forfeit  by  next  mail. 

When  are  you  coming  back  from  your  cottage  on  the 

1  At  one  time  Mr.  Longfellow,  burdened  with  these  demands,  had 
a  slip  of  paper  printed,  which  he  enclosed  with  his  autograph,  for  the 
benefit  of  others  :  "  In  applying  for  an  autograph,  always  inclose  a 
stamped  and  addressed  envelope." 


1877.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  265 

cliff?     The  trees  on  the  Common  and  the  fountains  are 
calling  for  you. 

"  Thee,  Tityrus,  even  the  pine-trees, 
Thee  the  very  fountains,  the  very  copses,  are  calling." 

Perhaps,  also,  your  creditors.     At  all  events  I  am,  who 
am  your  debtor. 


21st.     Fourteen  callers  in  the  afternoon. 

22d.  Arrange  Poems  of  Places ;  Eussia.  They  are 
more  numerous  than  I  thought  they  would  be. 

26th.  To-day,  sirocco.  I  feel  as  limp  as  Somebody's 
poetry. 

27th.  Arranging  poems  for  a  new  volume ;  this  time 
my  own.  In  the  evening  Dr.  Asa  Gray  with  Sir  J.  D. 
Hooker,  another  botanist,  and  President  of  the  Royal 
Society. 

29th.     Monti  and  music. 

October  1.  Dined  with  Agassiz  to  meet  Sir  Joseph 
Hooker,  a  very  agreeable  man. 

2d.  The  weather  continues  superb.  A  wild  Texan 
herd  broke  into  the  front  field.  The  leader,  a  huge  bull, 
was  shot.  The  rest  of  the  herd  at  once  grew  quiet. 

4th.  Called  on  Sir  Joseph  Hooker  at  the  Botanical  Gar 
den.  Evening  at  the  theatre ;  Madame  Janauschek  as 
Brunhild. 

10th.  A  young  Westerner  and  his  wife  called.  He 
asked  me  how  old  I  was.  "  Seventy,"  I  answered.  He 
replied,  "  I  have  seen  a  good  many  men  of  your  age  who 
looked  much  younger  than  you." 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

October  16,  1877. 

You  command  me  to  be  silent,  and  say  nothing  of  your 
beautiful  poem  till  I  see  you.  Nevertheless  I  cannot  be 


266  JOURNAL  AND   LETTERS.  [1877. 

quite  silent.  I  must  at  least  say  that  it  is  beautiful,  and 
sweet  with  the  breath  of  meadows,  and  simple  in  its  treat 
ment,  as  an  Idyl  should  be.  A  great  deal  of  the  poetry  I 
read  is  hot  and  feverish,  and  makes  me  long  for  shade  and 
coolness.  Your  little  book  is  like  a  grotto,  cool  and  re 
freshing.  I  am  particularly  struck  by  some  of  the  choruses. 
But  as  I  am  not  to  speak  of  the  book  till  I  see  you,  I  will 
bold  my  peace. 

Will  you  ask  Sir  James  to  lend  me  Landor's  Hellenics  ? 
I  am  sorely  in  want  of  his  poems  '  Ida '  and  '  Ithaca,' 
being  now  engaged  upon  Greece. 


18th.  Dined  with  the  Eev.  Dr.  Gray  to  meet  Bishops 
Stevens  of  Pennsylvania,  Dudley  of  Tennessee,  and  Eliot 
of  Texas. 

19th.  Evening  at  Mr.  ITasldns's,  where  I  met  sundry 
other  bishops.  —  Emerson  was  there. 

20th.  Last  night  I  dreamed  of  Emerson.  He  said  :  "  The 
spring  will  come  again ;  but  shall  we  see  it,  or  only  the 
eternal  spring  up  there  ? "  lifting  both  his  hands  on  high.  — 
At  dinner  Joaquin  Miller  and  Monti. 

24th.     Opera  ;  Wagner's  Lohengrin. 

30th.  Eead  Miss  Phelps's  novel,  the  Story  of  Avis. 
A  fresh,  original  style  of  writing,  very  interesting  and 
peculiar. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  30,  1877. 

Pierce's  Life  of  Sumner  will  be  published  on  the  7th  of 
November.  Last  evening  I  received  a  copy  in  advance. 
I  read  in  it,  here  and  there,  and  a  profound  sorrow  came 
over  me,  —  much  like  what  I  felt  when  I  heard  of  Sumner's 
death.  We  are  all  there  in  our  youth ;  and  the  Past  is 
too  powerful  for  me.  Too  many  things  are  touched  upon 
that  send  a  quiver  through  the  nerves.  I  shall  never 


1877.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  267 

be  able   to  read   the  book,  except  in   fragments  at  long 
intervals. 

Osgood  has  sold  or  given  and  conveyed  the  North 
American  into  the  hands  of  the  Appletons.  Henceforth  it 
will  be  edited,  printed,  and  published  in  New  York.  Mr. 
Clarke,  at  the  printing-office,  said :  "  It  is  like  part 
ing  with  the  New  England  Blarney-Stone."  He  might 
have  said,  in  more  classic  language :  "  Troy  has  lost  her 
Palladium." 

31st.  A  hazy  autumn  day.  W.  W.  Story,  the  sculptor, 
called. 

November  26.  Dark  and  wet  as  London.  Copied  for 
the  "  Old  South  "  Committee  the  '  Ballad  of  the  French 
Fleet.' 

From  John  Weiss. 

Boston,  December  1,  1877. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  As  you  desired,  I  send  you 
herewith  some  verses  of  Places.  Perhaps,  if  you  care  to 
receive  those  from  the  famous  Naushon,  you  will  think 
that  a  footnote  or  curt  introduction  may  be  needed ;  that 
can  be  easily  provided.  The  Island  Book,  in  several  vol 
umes,  contains  some  most  interesting  traces  of  the  distin 
guished  men  who  have  been  guests  there.  I  have  thought 
you  would  like  to  see  the  following  by  Daniel  Webster, 
—  one  of  his  rare  ventures  into  the  domain  of  verse- 
writing  : 

"  'T  is  not  the  capture  of  the  finny  race, 
'Tis  not  the  exciting  pleasure  of  the  chase, 
But  hospitality,  that  gives  the  grace 
And  sweetest  charm  to  this  enchanting  place. 
Though  skies  and  stars  and  seas  unite  their  power, 
And  balmy  airs  their  softest  influence  shower, 
To  gild  the  outspread  wings  of  every  hour, 
Yet  oft  nor  eye  nor  ear  these  objects  seeks, 
Drawn  both  away  while  Beauty  smiles  and  speaks." 


268  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1877. 

Mr.  Webster  used  to  be  keen  for  the  venison,  and  a  very 
good  shot,  bagging  his  game  as  he  used  to  do  ideas  suc 
cinctly  in  a  paragraph.  But  when  Mr.  E was  down 

there,  the  Governor  (Mr.  Swain)  gave  him  a  favorite 
stand,  with  injunction  to  take  the  deer  when  it  emerged 
into  the  open.  The  deer  did  well  enough ;  but  when  it 

came  through,  Mr.  E ,  shaking  his  double-barrelled 

Manton  wildly  in  the  air,  capered  about,  shouting :  "  There 
she  goes !  there  she  goes  !  " 

Excuse  me ;  the  reminiscences  of  Naushon  are  too  allur 
ing.     But  some  of  the  little  poems  in  its  Album  are  better 
than  most  of  those  which  stray  into  German  Andenken. 
Very  truly  yours, 

J.  WEISS. 

December  3.  A  letter  from  Lowell  in  Madrid.  He  is 
a  little  homesick;  but  on  the  whole,  I  should  say  well 
pleased  with  his  place  as  minister.1 

17th.  The  "Atlantic"  dinner  at  the  Brunswick  Hotel, 
to  celebrate  the  thirtieth  anniversary  of  the  Magazine,  and 
Whittier's  seventieth  birthday. 

1  Mr.  Lowell  wrote  to  him  :  u  I  have  just  had  a  visit  from  the  Per 
petual  Secretary  of  the  Royal  Spanish  Academy,  who  came  to  tell  me 
that  you  had  just  heen  nominated  a  foreign  member  of  that  venerable 
body.  When  your  name  was  proposed,  he  said,  there  was  a  contest  as 
to  who  should  second  the  nomination,  '  porque  tiene  muchos  apasio- 
nados  aqui  el  Senor  Longfellow.'  You  may  conceive  how  pleasant  it 
was  to  me  to  hear  this,  and  likewise  your  name  perfectly  pronounced 
by  a  Spaniard.  I  told  the  Secretary  that  one  of  your  latest  poems 
had  recorded  your  delightful  memories  of  Spain.  It  made  me  feel 
nearer  home  to  talk  about  you,  and  I  add  that  to  many  debts  of 
friendship  I  owe  you.  I  wish  I  could  walk  along  your  front  walk, 
and  drop  into  your  study.  However,  I  shall  find  you  there  when  I 
come  back  ;  for  you  looked  younger  than  ever  when  I  bade  you  good- 
by.  Your  diploma  will  be  sent  to  me  in  a  few  days,  and  I  shall 
take  care  that  you  receive  it." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS. 
1878-1879. 

From  W.  G.  Bryant. 

NEW  YORK,  January  3,  1878. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  The  Goethe  Club  of  this 
city  numbers  as  many  admirers  of  your  writings  as  it 
has  members.  They  are  desirous  of  seeing  you  among 
them  in  person,  and  of  taking  by  the  hand  one  whom 
they  have  long  held  in  reverence.  You  will  have  a  for 
mal  invitation  to  that  effect,  and  I  have  been  asked  to 
accompany  it  with  a  few  words  of  entreaty  that  you  will 
give  it  a  favorable  consideration.  You  will  certainly  no 
where  meet  with  those  who  more  delight  in  what  you 
have  written,  or  who  would  receive  greater  pleasure  from 
your  visit.  If  you  do  not  care  to  come  on  your  own 
account,  let  me  beg  you  to  consider  whether  you  will 
not  come  for  their  sakes.  I  am,  dear  sir, 
Faithfully  yours, 

W.  C.  BRYANT. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

January  25,  1878. 

Behold  the  song  "  from  beginning  to  end."     I  am  glad 
you  like  it  well  enough  to  ask  for  it  in  this  shape. 

I  have  answered  the  letter  of  the  young  lady  of  Cincin 
nati.     Her  request  was  for  a  poem  for  her  class.     I  could 


270  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1878. 

not  write  it,  but  tried  to  say  No  so  softly  that  she  would 
think  it  better  than  Yes. 

When  I  remember  that  it  is  less  than  half  an  hour  from 
my  door  to  yours,  I  am  ashamed  not  to  see  you  oftener.  1 
think  the  reason  is  that  while  you  are  on  the  wing  it  is 
in  vain  to  seek  you.  And  then  the  days  are  so  short !  It 
seems  to  me  they  are  only  twelve  hours  long,  instead  of 
twenty-four,  as  they  used  to  be. 

I  hope  Mrs.  Fields  is  quite  well  again.  I  have  taken 
her  cold,  or  somebody-else's,  and  should  like  to  find  the 
owner. 


February  1.  Mme.  Modjeska  and  her  son,  with  Mrs. 
Fields  and  Miss  Fhelps,  author  of  Avis,  at  lunch. 

2d.  Begin  again  on  proof-sheets  [of  Sumner's  Works] 
with  Nichols  and  Owen. 

3d.  Translated  Ovid's  Tristia,  book  iii.  Elegy  12,  for 
Poems  of  Places. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  24,  1878. 

You  tell  me  nothing  of  your  Southern  journey,  —  whom 
you  saw  and  what  you  did,  only  that  you  went  and  came 
back.  I  heard  of  you  through  my  neighbor  Horsford,  who 
left  you  feasting  with  the  grandees  of  Washington.  What 
a  humiliating  spectacle  was  that  presented  by  the  Senate 
on  the  passage  of  the  Silver  Bill !  To  this  have  we  come  ? 
Quousque  tandem  ?  Still  there  remains  a  "  land  of  pure 
delight,"  —  the  land  of  letters,  in  which  you  and  I  can 
take  refuge.  My  new  volume  of  poems  ['  Keramos,'  etc.] 
is  all  in  type.  I  hesitate  about  inserting  the  Virgilian 
Eclogue.  What  do  you  think  ?  Will  it  not  be  considered 
rather  a  school-boy  performance  ?  And  the  Poems  of 
Places  :  Europe  is  finished,  and  I  am  now  in  Syria.  In 


1873.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  271 

Russia  the  material  falls  short.  Is  there  any  poetic  trans 
lation  of  Ovid's  Tristia  ?  His  lamentations  from  the 
shores  of  the  Black  Sea  would  help  me,  and  give  a 
classic  flavor  to  the  otherwise  rather  barbaric  volume. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  29,  1878. 

How  have  you  got  through  this  rainy  week,  in  which  all 
nature,  except  human  nature,  has  been  rejoicing  and  exult 
ing  ?  Here,  Poems  of  Places  have  shut  out  the  dull 
weather.  I  have  been  in  India  and  China  and  Japan, 
and  am  now  in  Africa,  where  it  is  hot  and  dry  enough.  I 
think  Africa  will  be  one  of  the  most  interesting  volumes. 
There  are  no  new  books  here  just  now  except  my  own. 
'  K drain os '  is  out ;  but  I  no  longer  feel  la  procellosa  e  tre- 
pida  yioja  of  sending  out  a  book  into  the  world. 


May  1.  Bought  Champeaux's  Handbook  of  Tapestry. 
A  poem  might  be  written  on  this  subject.  A  lovely  May 
day  after  a  week  of  rain. 

4th.  Afternoon  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  to  see  Jefferson 
in  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

5th.  A  wild  south  wind  blowing.  Cherry-trees  in  full 
bloom,  and  dandelions  in  the  grass. 

2 5 tli.  Dined  at  Mr.  Winthrop's  to  meet  Lord  and  Lady 
Duffer  in. 

28th.  Lord  and  Lady  Dufferin  drove  over  from  Brook- 
line  to  breakfast  with  us.  They  are  both  charming  people, 
very  simple  and  cordial. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  31,  1878. 

This  is  sad  news  about  Bryant ;  I  fear  he  will  not  sur 
vive.  Two  reporters,  or  interviewers,  have  been  to  me 


272  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1878. 

already,  for  any  incidents  or  anecdotes  I  could  furnish 
concerning  him.  I  had  little  or  nothing  to  say,  and  said 
less.  What  they  will  say  I  said  remains  to  be  seen. 

In  Poems  of  Places  I  have  travelled  all  the  world  over, 
except  America.  That  remains,  arid  will  probably  fill  sev 
eral  volumes.  Even  the  final  volume,  Oceanica,  is  in  type. 
That  will  complete  the  series,  and  embrace  much  interest 
ing  matter  on  seas  and  islands,  not  given  before. 

"  Dulce  est  cujusvis  libri  finem  scribere." 


July  10-16.     In  Portland. 

August  5.  Went  with  Fields  down  to  his  cottage  by 
the  sea  [in  Manchester],  —  a  lovely  place. 

6th.  Drove  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  to  Gloucester  to  see 
Miss  Phelps  in  her  cottage  [the  Sea  Shell],  just  as  large  as 
my  study,  —  twenty  feet  square. 

18th.  Alfred  Dommett  sends  me  his  '  Eanolf  and 
Amohia,'  — •  a  New  Zealand  poem,  with  splendid  descrip 
tions  of  scenery. 

19th.  A  day  when  everything  went  wrong,  till  even 
ing,  when  a  Nova  Scotian  artist  came,  and  by  way  of  com 
pensation  gave  me  a  sketch  of  Grand  Pre*  in  oils. 

To  Miss  E.  8.  Phelps. 

August  21,  [1878]. 

Your  letter  fills  me  with  regret.  I  am  sorry  that  I  did 
not  stay  long  enough  at  East  Point  to  see  the  fog  lift  and 
Norman's  Woe  rise  to  view.  I  have  never  seen  those 
fatal  rocks.  I  have  a  vision  of  you  speeding  away  with 
your  swift  steed,  and  the  white  cloud  floating  in  the  wind 
as  you  turned  the  corner  and  vanished  out  of  sight.  We 
got  safely  back  to  Thunderbolt  Hill !  before  the  rain  came 
on.  But  what  a  wet  afternoon  it  was  ! 
1  Mr.  Fielda's  place. 


1878.]  LETTERS.  273 

I  thank  you  for  the  paragraph  on  Co-education.  That 
is  a  difficult  problem  to  solve.  I  know  that  life,  like 
French  poetry,  is  imperfect  without  the  feminine  rhyme. 
But  I  remember  how  much  time  I  lost  at  the  Academy, 
in  my  boyhood,  looking  across  the  schoolroom  at  the 
beautiful  rhyme.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  not  time  lost, 
but  a  part  of  my  education.  Of  what  woman  was  it  said 
that  "  to  know  her  was  a  liberal  education,"  and  who  said 
it  ? 1  Certainly  there  is  something  more  in  education  than 
is  set  down  in  the  school-books.  Whittier  has  touched 
the  point  very  poetically  in  that  little  lyric  of  his  called 
'In  School  Days.' 

To  G.    W.  Greeene. 

August  21,  1878. 

As  I  have  written  only  eight  letters  to-day,  I  may  as 
well  add  another,  and  give  you  what  is  left  in  the  ink 
stand.  Not  that  I  have  anything  in  particular  to  say, 
but  my  pen  has  got  such  headway  upon  it  that  I  cannot 
stop  it. 

I  have  just  been  looking  over  Mr.  Cushing's  Index  to< 
the  North  American  Eeview,  recently  published.  It  is 
like  walking  through  a  graveyard  and  reading  the  in>- 
scriptions  on  head-stones.  So  many  familiar  names,  so 
many  old  associations  !  Bowen  is  the  largest  contributor ; 
Edward  Everett  the  next  largest ;  then  his  brother  Alex 
ander.  You  wrote  twenty  articles  ;  Charles  Sumner 
three;  George  Sumner  only  one.2  I  am  struck  by  the 
great  variety  of  subjects  treated,  and  the  prevalence  of 
those  purely  literary ;  and  my  regret  is  rendered  more 

1  It  was  Steele,  who  said  of  Lady  Elizabeth  Hastings,  under  the 
name  of  Aspasia,  that  "to  love  her  was  a  liberal  education." — The 
Taller,  No.  49. 

2  Mr.  Longfellow  himself  wrote  eleven. 

18 


274  LETTERS.  [1878. 

keen  than  ever  that  the  old  Review  should  have  slipped 
its  moorings  in  Massachusetts  Bay  and  drifted  down  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Hudson.  It  must  be  towed  back  again, 
and  safely  anchored  in  our  harbor. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

August  25,  1878. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  not  quite  yourself.  I 
sympathize  with  you,  for  I  am  somebody  else.  It  is  the 
two  Ws  —  Work  and  Weather  —  that  are  playing  the  mis 
chief  with  us.  I  ought  to  have  stayed  longer  with  you ; 
I  ought  to  have  stayed  longer  at  Portland  and  at  Nahant, 
—  in  fine,  ought  not  to  have  come  home  so  soon.  You  must 
not  open  a  book ;  you  must  not  even  look  at  an  inkstand. 
These  are  both  contraband  articles,  upon  which  we  have 
to  pay  heavy  duties.  We  cannot  smuggle  them  in  ; 
Nature's  custom-house  officers  are  too  much  on  the  alert. 

I  should  be  delighted  to  make  you  another  visit  before 
the  season  is  over,  and  will  if  possible,  —  but  not  for  the 
gayeties  of  the  hotel;  they  do  not  tempt  me.  What  I 
want  is  rest.  Greene  writes  in  very  poor  spirits  ;  he 
says  he  cannot  walk  half  a  mile.  Are  we  all  crumbling 
to  pieces  ?  I  trust  not. 

To  G.    W.   Greene. 

August  30,  1878. 

You  need  not  be  afraid  of  Hop  Bitters  ;  they  will 
never  do  you  any  harm,  —  because  you  will  never  take 
them.  Here  at  the  Craigie  House  everything  goes  on  as 
usual.  We  debate  the  errors  in  the  Sumner  proof-sheets. 
Poems  of  Places  drag  their  length  from  volume  to  volume. 
Mrs.  McD.  has  gone  back  to  Holly  Springs  to  face  and 
fight  the  pestilence.  It  is  very  noble  in  her  to  do  so.  She 
could  not  resist  the  maternal  instinct  to  protect  her  child, 


1878.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  275 

and  her  desire  to  share  the  fate  of  her  family.  She  will 
be  a  great  support  and  comfort  to  them  with  her  courage 
and  cheerfulness.  What  a  terrible  devastation  this  is  at 
the  South !  What  a  terror  in  the  air !  The  laws  of 
Nature  are  inexorable.  Truly,  cleanliness  is  next  to  god 
liness.  Have  your  cellar  whitewashed.  The  inside  of 
the  platter  must  be  kept  clean,  as  well  as  the  outside,  — 
and  this  sounds  like  a  sermon,  of  which  you  stand  in  no 
need. 


September  1.  A  soft  rain ;  then  sunshine  intense  and 
pitiless.  E.  and  K.  are  staying  here.  A.  and  A.  are  in 
the  forests  of  Maine. 

llth.  Went  to  town  to  see  Mrs. .  She  is  in  great 

grief,  and  almost  despair.  I  could  not  help  recalling  the 
lines  of  Keats :  — 

"  There  was  a  listening  fear  in  her  regard 
As  if  calamity  had  but  begun, 
As  if  the  vanward  clouds  of  evil  days 
Had  spent  their  malice,  and  the  sullen  roar 
Was  with  its  stored  thunder  laboring  up." 

17th.  Dean  Stanley  called,  with  Dr.  Harper  and  Mr. 
Grove,  editor  of  Macmillan's  Magazine,  escorted  by 
Governor  Rice. 

25th.  At  the  theatre  to  see  Olivia,  —  a  play  made  from 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

To  G.    W.  Greene. 

September  25,  1878. 

I  went  yesterday  to  the  theatre  to  see  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  and  was  struck  with  the  immense  superiority 
of  dramatic  representation  over  narrative.  Dr.  Primrose 
and  his  daughter  were  living  realities.  Sophy  was  per 
fectly  lovely,  and  it  would  have  delighted  Goldsmith's 


276  LETTERS.  [1878. 

heart  to  have  seen  her.  Dr.  Primrose  was  very  well  done 
by  Warren,  and  Olivia  by  Miss  Clarke.  Mrs.  Primrose 
was  represented  by  Mrs.  Vincent.  It  was  all  very  pa 
thetic,  and  half  the  audience  were  in  tears,  —  the  present 
writer  among  the  rest. 

To-day  I  am  paying  the  penalty  of  my  dissipation, 
having  taken  a  heavy  cold  from  the  ladies'  fans  behind 
me,  and  the  invariable  theatrical  custom  of  flooding  a 
heated  audience  with  cold  air  from  open  doors  and  win 
dows.  I  might  have  foreseen  it,  and  did  foresee  it ;  and 
get  no  consolation  from  Moliere's  "  Tu  1'as  voulu,  George 
Dandin,"  or  his  "  Que  diable  allait-il  faire  dans  cette 
galore  ? " 

I  suppose  you  have  seen  by  the  papers  that  Dean 
Stanley  has  been  here.  He  came  to  see  me,  and  I  after 
wards  dined  with  him  at  Winthrop's.  He  is  very  pleas 
ant  and  animated  in  conversation,  and  full  of  anecdote. 
I  wish  you  had  been  here ;  I  think  you  would  have 
enjoyed  seeing  him. 

Did  I  tell  you  of  a  request  I  had  from  Chattanooga  to 
write  one  hundred  autographs  for  a  Fair  in  behalf  of 
Southern  sufferers  ?  It  was  like  fighting  the  battle  over 
again;  but  I  did  it! 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

October  6,  1878. 

"  AFFABLE  ARCHANGEL,"  —  have  you  written  to  Chi 
cago  for  reinforcements  of  those  stout  little  "  men  in 
buckram  "  ? 

I  rather  like  that  sentence  beginning  with  Milton,  who, 
as  thinks,  was  no  poet,  and  going  back  to  Shake 
speare,  of  whom  your  travelling  companion  at  Stratford- 
on-Avon  entertained  the  same  opinion.  Let  us  try  again. 
Have  you  summoned  those  "  spirits  from  the  vasty " 
West? 


1878.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  277 

Let  me  take  this  opportunity  to  recommend  to  you  the 
Family  Library  of  British  Poetry.  It  is  an  excellent 
work,  and  not  only  a  body  of  British  poetry,  but  the  very 
soul  thereof.  You  will  like  it  as  well  as  I  do.1 

All  things  here  have  resumed  their  wonted  aspect. 
Poems  of  Places,  also  an  excellent  work,  "  drags  at  each 
remove  a  lengthening  chain."  Don  Jorge  Nichols  and  Don 
Juan  Owen  come  with  the  Sumner  proof-sheets,  and  we 
sit  together,  like  the  three  wise  men  in  a  bowl,  all  at  sea. 
If  I  were  not  an  enemy  to  quotations,  I  should  say  it  is 
enough  to  "make  the  judicious  grieve"  to  see  us  three 
sitting  and  sifting,  and  weighing  and  measuring  with  end 
less  iteration.  Meanwhile  you  look  serenely  down  from 
the  heights  of  Thunderbolt  Hill,  like  Lucretius  in  his 
second  book,  or  Lord  Bacon  in  his  beautiful  paraphrase  of 
the  same  in  his  Essay  "  Of  Truth  "  :  "  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
stand  upon  the  shore  and  to  see  ships  tossed  upon  the 
great  sea ; "  and  so  forth. 

Did  you  read  in  the  papers  of  Mr. 's  recitation  of 

The  Spanish  Student  at  the  Hawthorne  Eooms  ?  I  under 
stand  that  he  appeared  in  a  complete  suit  of  red,  like 
Mephistopheles  in  Faust ! 


October  9.  Sam  Ward  came  with  young  Lord  Ronald 
Gower,  a  younger  brother  of  the  Duchess  of  Argyll. 

15th.  Went  to  Portland  for  B.'s  wedding,  —  and  a  very 
pretty  wedding  it  was. 

18th.     Returned  home.     Found  sixteen  letters. 

23d.  Lunched  with  Professor  Pierce  to  meet  Dr.  Lyon 
Playfair,  M.  P. 

1  The  book  was  compiled  by  Mr.  Fields  and  Mr.  Whipple. 


278  LETTERS.  [1878. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  27,  1878- 

I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you  aiid  your  wife  whenever 
you  can  come.  Let  me  know  the  day  and  the  hour,  and 
I  will  send  in  for  you.  If  I  do  not  come  myself,  it  is 
because  the  coupe'  holds  but  two. 

Mr.  Henry  W.  Holland,  of  Cambridge,  has  published  a 
very  handsome  book  entitled  "  William  Dawes,  and  his 
Eide  with  Paul  Eevere,"  in  which  he  convicts  me  of  high 
historic  crimes  and  misdemeanors.  The  book  will  interest 
you  ;  and  I  can  already  see  you  sitting  by  your  favorite 
southern  window  reading  its  attractive  pages. 

"  New  England "  makes  two  volumes  of  Poems  of 
Places  ;  they  are  among  the  best.  The  "  Middle  States  " 
are  in  type,  and  the  "  Southern  "  ready  for  the  printer.  I 
begin  at  last  to  see  the  end. 

To   W.  M.  Green. 

October  29,  1878. 

I  hasten  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  remembrance  and 
for  your  excellent  address  to  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the 
"  University  of  the  South."  I  have  read  it  with  deep  in 
terest.  Certainly  your  forcible  and  timely  words  need 
no  indorsement  of  mine ;  and  yet  at  all  times  the  re 
sponse  and  sympathy  of  others  is  comforting,  and  in  a 
certain  sense  upholds  our  hands. 

I  have  always,  my  dear  sir,  the  pleasantest  remem 
brance  of  your  visit  here,  and  I  have  learned  with  great 
sorrow  of  the  affliction  that  has  come  upon  you.1  When 
I  hear  of  a  young  man's  death,  I  instinctively  recall  that 
touching  picture  of  a  father's  grief,  where  David  goes 

1  Bishop  Green's  son,  a  clergyman,  had  died  at  his  post  of  duty 
and  mercy  during  the  prevalence  of  the  yellow  fever. 


1878.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  279 

up  to  the  "  chamber  over  the  gate  "  and  weeps  ;  and  I 
hear  the  cry  of  his  soul :  "  0  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son !  " 


30th.  Wrote  'The  Chamber  over  the  Gate.'  It  was 
suggested  by  writing  to  the  Bishop  of  Mississippi  on  the 
death  of  his  son. 

November  4.  Met  Dr.  Holmes  at  the  printer's.  He  is 
putting  to  press  his  Memoir  of  Motley. 

To  Miss  K . 

November  13,  1878. 

I  am  glad  you  take  interest  enough  in  Hyperion  to 
ask  any  questions  about  it,  and  I  answer  them  with 
pleasure.  St.  Gilgen  is  a  real  place.  The  churchyard 
is  there,  and  the  chapel  and  the  funeral  tablet,  and  the 
inscription.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  have  it  in 
German.  It  reads  as  follows  :  — 

"  Blicke  nicht  traurend  in  die  Vergangenheit.  Sie 
kommt  nicht  wieder.  Niitze  weisse  die  Gegenwart.  Sie 
ist  dein.  Der  diistern  Zukunft  geh  ohne  Furcht  mit 
mannlichen  Sinne  entgegen." 

No  author's  name  is  given,  for  no  one  signs  funeral  in 
scriptions,  and  I  do  not  suppose  this  was  taken  from 
anybody's  writings.  In  the  Gazetteer  you  may  possibly 
find  "  Sanct  Wolfgangs  See."  This  is  the  same  lake  as 
St.  Gilgen,  St.  Wolfgang  being  at  the  other  end  of  the 
lake. 

December  21.  Edward  Eemdnyi,  the  famous  violinist, 
passed  the  evening  with  us,  with  Mr.  Ducken  to  accom 
pany  him.  Their  music  was  charming. 

24th.     Mr.  Guest  and  Mrs.  Gaskell,  of  England. 

28th.  Wrote  some  verses  on  Bayard  Taylor,  for  the 
memorial  meeting. 


280  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

January  2,  1879.  Evening  at  the  Opera,  Mme.  Gerster 
as  Lucia.  An  exquisite  soprano  voice  and  an  excellent 
actress. 

3d.  A  bitter  wind  howling  and  whistling.  A  Catholic 
priest,  who  has  left  his  Church,  calls.  He  looks  fright 
ened.  Write  many  letters. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  3,  1879. 

Last  night  I  was  at  the  opera  of  Lucia.  I  thought  of 
you.  How  delighted  you  would  have  been  with  the  music, 
and  how  tired  with  sitting  on  those  ci-devant  red  velvet 
cushions,  now  changed  by  Time  into  layers  of  red  sand 
stone  ! 

Mme.  Gerster's  pure,  young,  fresh  soprano  voice  is  ex 
quisite  ;  the  other  singers  all  good ;  chorus  and  orchestra 
good,  —  a  rare  completeness  in  voices  and  instruments. 
The  sestetto  at  the  end  of  the  second  act  was  "  splendid." 

There  is  to  be  a  meeting  at  the  Music  Hall  next  week 
to  commemorate  the  death  of  Bayard  Taylor.  I  have 
written  some  verses  for  the  occasion,  which  I  hope  you 
will  like  ;  I  will  send  them  to  you  in  a  few  days. 

This  is  my  sixth  letter  this  morning,  —  a  fact  which  will 
account  for  its  meagreness.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  the  same 
things  over  too  often  ;  you  might  think  me  growing  old, 
—  which  would  be  a  great  mistake ;  I  have  done  that 
already. 

A.  calls  at  the  door,  "Papa,  dear,  will  you  come  to 
lunch  ?  "  "  In  a  moment."  And  then  to  the  printer's  to 

prove  — 

"  Come  e  duro  calle 
Lo  scendere  e  '1  salir  le  sue  scale." 

You  cannot  have  forgotten  them ;  if  you  have,  I  have 
not.  I  send  you  to-day  a  paper  with  an  article  on  copy 
right.  E  pur  si  muove  ! 


1879.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  281 

4th.  At  the  Opera.  The  Sonnamlula  of  Bellini,  with 
Mme.  Gerster  as  Amiua.  It  was  beautiful  throughout. 

5th.  Fed  the  sparrows  and  wrote  a  sonnet  on  '  The 
Voice  of  a  Singer.'  In  the  afternoon  Minnie  Hauk  called, 
with  her  mother. 

7th.  Afternoon  at  Mrs.  S 's  ;  music.  Senora  Car 
men  Pisani,  a  Spanish  singer  of  the  opera,  and  a  little 
French  girl  of  five  years,  who  played  wonderfully  well 
some  fugues  of  Bach!  Evening  at  the  Opera.  Minnie 
Hauk  in  Carmen,  —  a  rather  brilliant  opera  by  a  French 
composer,  Bizet,  who  died  before  it  was  performed. 

8th.  Curtin  comes  in  the  evening  and  reads  parts  of  a 
wild  Russian  story  of  Cossacks,  lawless  in  their  lives  and 
fierce  in  their  religion.  Their  blind  zeal  makes  one  under 
stand  better  the  phrase,  "  Holy  Russia."  It  is  the  spirit  of 
the  Crusaders. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  10,  1879. 

I  think  you  will  feel  that  I  have  done  wisely  in  making 
up  my  mind  not  to  venture  going  in  to  the  Taylor  memo 
rial  meeting  to-night.  I  could  not  bear  the  exposure  and 
the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  without  too  much  strain ; 
so  I  have  sent  my  poem  to  be  read  by  Dr.  Holmes.  I  am 
now  enjoying  a  little  leisure.  All  the  work  is  done  on 
Poems  of  Places,  except  reading  proofs,  which  will  last 
some  time  longer.  I  wish  I  could  send  your  mother  the 
lovely  roses  that  are  blooming  and  breathing  out  their  lit 
tle  lives  on  the  table  before  me.  As  I  cannot,  I  send  the 
wish  to  do  so.  You  shall  have  the  poem  in  a  day  or  two  ; 
it  is  coming  out  in  the  next  Atlantic. 


14th.     T.  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waring  at  lunch.     In  the 
afternoon  Louise  and  Jeanne  Douste,  the  wonderful  mu- 


282  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

sicians  of  eight  and  ten  years,  came  with  their  father. 
They  played  pieces  from  Bach,  Beethoven,  Mozart,  Chopin, 
and  Brahms.  Dear  little  girls,  both  of  them !  In  the 
midst  of  the  music  came  Mrs.  Clara  Doria  Kogers. 

To  G.  W.  Curtis. 

January  15,  1879. 

I  have  just  received,  and  have  read  with  unabated  inter 
est  and  delight  from  beginning  to  end,  your  Discourse  on 
Bryant.  It  is  admirable ;  very  just  and  very  eloquent. 
It  is  not  a  painting  of  the  man,  but  his  statue,  which  may 
be  seen  from  all  sides,  and  represents  him  as  he  was  and 
will  be  in  the  minds  of  his  countrymen.  There  is  some 
thing  very  noble  and  grand  in  his  attitude  and  aspect. 

Many  thanks.  In  return  I  send  you  some  verses  which 
I  wrote  for  the  Bayard  Taylor  meeting. 


16th.  In  the  evening  comes  Mr.  Balch,  who  agrees  to 
let  me  have  the  sole  charge  of  the  three  remaining  vol 
umes  of  Sumner's  Works.1 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

January  17,  1879. 

Have  you  any  faith  in  the  mystery  and  meaning  of 
numbers,  as  Dante  had,  and  Cowley,  and  other  poets  ? 
Last  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  thinking  of  many  things,  the 
number  eighteen  came  into  my  mind,  and  I  was  amazed 
to  find  what  a  part  it  has  played  in  my  life. 

I  was  eighteen  years  old  when  I  took  my  college  de 
gree  ;  eighteen  years  afterward,  I  was  married  for  the 
second  time  ;  I  lived  with  my  wife  eighteen  years,  and  it 

1  Mr.  Francis  Balch,  Mr.  E.  L.  Pierce,  and  Mr.  Longfellow  were 
named  by  Mr.  Sumner  as  his  literary  executors. 


1879.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  283 

is  eighteen  years  since  she  died.  These  four  eighteens 
added  together  make  seventy-two,  —  my  age  this  year. 
And  then,  by  wray  of  parenthesis  or  epicycle,  I  was 
eighteeen  years  professor  in  the  College  here,  and  have 
published  eighteen  separate  volumes  of  poems. 

This  is  curious  ;  the  necromancers  would  make  a  good 
deal  out  of  it :  I  cannot  make  anything  at  all. 


18th.  Send  the  last  copy  of  Poems  of  Places  to  the 
printer.  That  stone  is  rolled  over  the  hilL 

To  Jules  Marcou. 

January  23,  1879. 

I  should  have  written  you  long  ago  to  thank  you  for 
your  kind  remembrance  and  for  the  Chants  Populaires  de 
la  Franche  Comte.  I  promised  your  son  to  do  so  when  he 
brought  me  the  book,  but  have  been  prevented  by  many 
engagements,  —  those  numberless  nothings  that  break  the 
smooth  current  of  life  like  pebbles  in  a  stream.  It  is  a 
very  curious  and  interesting  collection  of  popular  songs  ; 
and  I  can  say  to  you,  as  does  Victor  Hugo  to  the  editor  : 
"  Je  vous  remercie,  monsieur ;  vous  m'avez  fait  connaitre 
la  Tranche  Comte."  I  wish  I  had  some  pleasant  news  to 
send  you  from  Cambridge.  You  know  what  a  New  Eng 
land  winter  is,  and  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  it.  Two 
handmaidens,  Influenza  and  Neuralgia,  sent  from  that  in 
telligence-office  which  is  generally  supposed  to  furnish  us 
with  cooks,  make  me  as  wretched  as  a  Mormon  with  two 
wives. 

28th.  Among  my  letters  to-day  are  two  from  old  peo 
ple,  —  one  signed  "  M.  T.,  seventy-eight  years  old ; "  the 
other,  "S.  H.,  eighty-one  years  old,  and  nearly  blind." 
Why  do  old  people  like  to  boast  of  their  age? 


284  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

February  1.  Received  from  Mantua  Canti  Inglesi,  by 
Luigi  Carnevali,  containing  excellent  translations  of  some 
of  my  lyrics. 

27th.  My  seventy-second  birthday.  A  present  from 
the  children  of  Cambridge  of  a  beautiful  armchair,  made 
from  the  wood  of  the  Village  Blacksmith's  chestnut-tree. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  7,  1879. 

I  had  a  note  this  morning  from  Miss  P ,  of  An- 

dover,  in  which  she  sends  me  the  following  :  — 

"  I  just  now  heard  of  a  little  girl  (very  little),  who  has  begun  to 
go  to  Sunday-school,  and  was  asked  by  her  teacher  the  question : 
'  What  book  do  good  people  like  best  to  read  ? '  Loud  her  answer 
rang  :  '  Longfellow's  Poems  ! '  " 

Of  the  birthday-chair  I  hear  nothing  farther;  but  no 
doubt  shall  hear  soon,  and  have  written  a  poem  in  reply 
to  anything  which  may  come.  That  is  my  only  achieve 
ment  since  you  left  me.  A  more  important  achievement 
is  the  translation  of  Heine's  Poems  into  Italian  by  Ber- 
nadino  Zendrini,  —  a  volume  of  over  four  hundred  pages, 
sent  me  by  the  translator,  "  desideroso  di  un  suo  giudizio." 
As  far  as  I  have  examined  it,  he  has  done  his  work  well. 
And  what  a  difficult  work !  There  is  evidently  a  great 
and  strange  fascination  in  translating.  It  seizes  people 
with  irresistible  power,  and  whirls  them  away  till  they  are 
beside  themselves.  It  is  like  a  ghost  beckoning  one  to 
follow. 

Last  night  I  went  to  an  opera  at  the  Teatro  dell'  Ar- 
senale,  composed  by  a  gentleman  of  Cambridge,  and  sung 
by  amateurs.  Very  clever,  both  in  composition  and 
performance.1 

1  An  amateur  company  for  several  years  gave  very  spirited  per 
formances  in  one  of  the  buildings  of  the  disused  Arsenal  in  Cam 
bridge,  which  they  fitted  up  for  the  purpose. 


1879.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  285 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

March  12,  1879. 

Pardon  me  for  not  writing  sooner  to  thank  you  for  the 
lovely  glass  jar  you  sent  me  on  my  birthday.  I  never 
saw  anything  of  the  kind  so  beautiful.  It  stands  on  my 
study  table ;  whenever  I  raise  my  head  I  see  it,  and  when 
ever  I  see  it,  it  gives  me  a  fresh  delight.  It  is  a  golden 
sun  that  lights  the  room.  I  hope  soon  to  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  showing  you  my  elbow-chair.  I  cannot  send  it  to 
you,  but  it  shall  wait  your  coming ;  meanwhile  I  send  you 
some  verses  which  I  have  written  to  the  children  by  way  of 
thanks  for  their  present.  Please  do  not  show  them  to  any 
one  out  of  your  own  house  before  the  end  of  the  week,  as 
they  are  to  appear  first  in  the  Cambridge  papers,  as  is 
right  and  proper.  With  renewed  thanks, 

Yours  faithfully. 


March  31.  Winter  has  come  back  in  great  force,  —  a 
whirling  snowstorm  to  end  the  month.  Have  been  this 
morning  at  the  City  Hospital  in  Boston  to  see  Miss  H., 
the  reader,  who  is  dying  of  consumption. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  26,  1879. 

Your  letter,  with  its  pleasant  tidings,  has  just  reached 
me,  and  I  hasten  to  send  you  my  cordial  congratulations. 
As  girls  will  grow  up  and  get  married,  and  there  is  no 
power  on  earth  to  prevent  it,  all  we  have  to  do  is  —  to  let 
them.  We,  who  are  on  the  western  side  of  life,  must  for 
get  ourselves  a  little,  and  see  with  their  eyes,  who  are  look 
ing  out  at  the  eastern  windows ;  there  it  is  all  sunshine. 

I  am  glad  that  you  are  satisfied  with  K 's  choice  ; 

that  is  the  main  point.     Everything  else  will  take  care  of 


286  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

itself.  We  all  join  in  felicitations  and  good  wishes.  No 
wonder  you  are  still  somewhat  anxious  about  your  mother  ; 
though  I  suppose  that  any  ill  effects  of  the  accident,  if  any 
were  to  be,  would  have  shown  themselves  before  now.1 

The  visit  of  the  school-girls  passed  off  very  pleasantly  ; 
and  such  a  pretty  girl  presented  the  pen  !  2  The  teacher 
asked  after  you,  and  remembered  that  you  were  here  last 
year. 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

June  25,  1879. 

...  I  went  to  town  to  see  you,  but  you  had  already 
gone  to  the  seaside.  You  have  escaped  the  stir  and  noise 
of  Class-Day  and  Commencement-Day  week.  I  think  the 
Duke  of  Argyll  must  be  in  town,  for  the  Lancers  have 
just  ridden  by,  the  band  playing  lustily,  "  The  Campbells 
are  coming."  I  shall  probably  find  him  at  the  Commence 
ment  dinner,  to  which  I  am  going  presently.  For  the 
last  ten  days  I  have  had  Mr.  Kitson,  the  sculptor,  staying 
with  me,  making  my  bust.  It  is  very  good ;  so  say  "  all 
the  crowned  heads"  of  Cambridge.  "Two  or  three  sit 
tings!"  —  that  is  the  illusory  phrase.  Two  or  three 
sittings  have  become  a  standing  joke.  .  .  .  Give  my  love 
to  your  patient,  and  tell  him  to  be  of  good  cheer. 


July  11.  The  Duke  of  Argyll  and  his  daughters  dined 
with  us.  Other  guests,  —  R  H.  Dana  and  his  son,  Mrs. 
L ,  and  Charles  Norton. 

1  Mr.  Greene's  mother  died  in  1886,  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and 
two. 

2  The    "iron  pen,"   afterward  celebrated  in  his  verse.     It  was 
made  from  a  bit  of  iron  from  the  prison  of  Bonnivard  at  Chillon,  the 
handle  of  oak-wood  from  the  frigate  "  Constitution,"  set  with  three 
precious  stones  from  Siberia,  Ceylon,  and  Maine. 


1879.]  LETTEKS.  287 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

PORTLAND,  August  7,  1879. 

My  principal  reason  for  "not  giving  you  an  account  of 
my  narrow  escape  from  shipwreck "  was  that  no  such 
thing  ever  happened  to  me.  The  last  place  in  which  you 
would  ever  look  for  me  would  be  out  at  sea  in  a  cat-boat. 
I  was  not  there.  It  was  C.  and  A.  coming  from  Na- 
hant;  and  they  reached  their  landing  before  the  storm 
came  on.  Their  only  danger  was  that  they  were  run  into 
by  a  yacht,  with  one  man  and  four  women  on  board ;  and 
one  of  the  women  flew  into  a  passion  and  cried  out :  "  I 
wish  they  had  been  drowned ! "  Ten  minutes  later  the 
yacht  was  capsized,  and  the  four  women  perished ! 

I  am  here  on  my  annual  visit  to  the  old  house,  inhaling 
health  with  every  breath  of  sea-air ;  I  shall  stay  here  ten 
days  longer,  and  then  go  home  to  welcome  Ernest  and  his 
wife,  who  leave  Liverpool  on  Tuesday  next. 

I  am  "as  idle  as  a  painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean." 
I  only  sit  here  at  this  upper  window  and  see  the  people 
go  by,  and  commit  to  memory  the  signs  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street. 

The  seaside  laziness  overwhelms  me  like  a  tide.  I  close 
my  letter  and  my  eyes. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

PORTLAND,  August  10,  1879. 

As  soon  as  I  received  your  note,  I  sent  the  poem  ['  K£ra- 
mos']  to  Mr.  Alden.  Many  thanks  to  you,  my  noble 
friend  and  financier ;  I  hope  the  Harpers  will  be  as  well 
satisfied  with  the  transaction  as  I  am.1 

Church-bells  ringing ;  clatter  of  church-going  feet  on 
the  pavement;  boys  crying,  "Boston  Herald!"  voices  of 

1  The  honorarium  was  one  thousand  dollars. 


288  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

passing  men  and  women,  —  these  are  the  sounds  that 
come  to  me  at  this  upper  window,  looking  down  into  the 
street.  I  contrast  all  this  with  last  Sunday's  silence  at 
Manchester-by-the-Sea,  and  remember  my  delightful  visit 
there.  Then  comes  the  thought  of  the  moonlight  and  the 
music,  and  Shelley's  verses, 

"  As  the  moon's  soft  splendor 
O'er  the  faint,  cold  starlight  of  heaven 
Is  thrown  ; " 

and  so  on,  to 

"  Some  world  far  from  ours, 
Where  moonlight  and  music  and  feeling 
Are  one." 

How  beautiful  this  song  would  sound  if  set  to  music  by 

Mrs.  B ,  and  chanted  by  her  in  the  twilight ! 

Portland  is  a  pleasant  place.  So  are  other  places,  —  as 
may  be  seen  by  certain  poems  written  about  them.  It  is 
a  pity  that  we  cannot  be  hi  more  than  one  at  a  time. 


August  22.  As  I  was  standing  at  my  front  door  this 
morning,  a  lady  in  black  came  up  and  asked :  "  Is  this 
the  house  where  Longfellow  was  born  ? " 

"  No,  he  was  not  born  here." 

"  Did  he  die  here  ? " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Are  you  Longfellow  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"  I  thought  you  died  two  years  ago." 

25th.  I  went  to  Boston  to  call  on  Dr.  Ackland,  of 
Oxford. 

26th.     I  received  the  diploma  of  the  Spanish  Academy. 

28th.  Dr.  Ackland  called,  with  his  son.  He  took  me 
aside  to  speak  of  his  beautiful  wife,  who  lately  died.  He 


1879.]  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  289 

is  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  bewildered  by  the  rush  of 
events,  but  tries  to  rise  above  it  all  into 

"  that  blessed  mood 
In  which  the  burden  of  the  mystery, 
In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world 
Is  lightened." 

Septe?riber  1.  Born  in  the  southwest  chamber  of  the 
Craigie  House,  at  ten  o'clock,  a  new  Kichard  Henry  Dana ; 
my  first  grandchild. 

2d.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leycester,  of  Knutsford,  Cheshire, 
England,  called.  Charming  people ;  I  remember  meeting 
her  on  the  Eoman  Campagna  in  1869. 

22d.  Dr.  Plumptre,  Professor  in  King's  College,  Lon 
don,  and  translator  of  Sophocles  and  ^Eschylus,  with  his 
wife  and  the  Eev.  J.  Cotton  Smith,  came  to  lunch.  She 
is  sister  of  the  late  Eev.  F.  D.  Maurice.  In  the  afternoon 
Miss  T.,  a  charming  reader. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  7,  1879. 

The  seventh  of  October,  and  the  thermometer  in  my 
study,  with  doors  and  windows  open,  at  seventy -four ! 
But  out  of  doors  the  scene  is  splendid,  and  the  house  is 
walled  about  with  bronze  and  gold.  It  is  just  the  same 
with  you;  and  I  will  not  dilate  upon  it.  Nor  do  I  see 
how  I  am  ever  to  get  to  Windmill  Cottage  and  see  the 
mill  at  work.  One  thing  after  another  prevents ;  and  I 
regret  it  all  the  more  because,  the  house  here  being  full, 
I  cannot  ask  you  to  come  to  me. 

This  autumn  my  time  has  been  more  than  ever  broken 
in  upon  and  devastated.  It  goes  from  bad  to  worse. 

"  Ach !  ich  bin  des  Treibens  miide  ! 
Wozu  all  dies  Leid  und  Lust  ? 

Siisse  Friede, 

Komm,  0  komm  in  meine  Brust !  " 
19 


290  JOURNAL  AND  LETTERS.  [1879. 

How  often  I  repeat  these  lines  of  Goethe  !  And  then, 
the  letters  —  the  daily  inundation  of  letters  !  Luckily, 
some  require  no  answer ;  as,  for  instance,  this  from  a 
teacher  in  a  Western  college :  "  Please  inform  me  whether 
or  not  your  feelings  were  in  sympathy  with  your  immortal 
thought  when  you  wrote  '  The  Bridge.' " 

However,  I  have  said  enough  on  that  subject,  and  will 
never  allude  to  it  again,  if  I  can  help  it. 


October  9.  This  forenoon  fourteen  callers  ;  thirteen  of 
them  English. 

To  his  Sister  A, 

November  20,  1879. 

Thanks  for  your  note  of  last  evening.  I  hasten  to  an 
swer  it,  and  send  you  a  correct  list  of  the  personages  of 
'  The  Wayside  Inn.' 

The  precious  stones  in  the  "  Iron  Pen "  are  a  white 
Phenacite  from  Siberia,  a  yellow  Zircon  from  Ceylon,  a 
red  Tourmaline  from  Maine. 

The  "  little  Dana  boy  "  is  thriving,  and  begins  to  notice 
things  about  him.  Every  afternoon  I  give  him  a  music- 
lesson.  He  sits  attentively  listening  while  I  play  to  him 
on  the  piano,  and  evidently  thinks  me  equal  to  Rubinstein 
or  Perabo. 

To-day  we  have  a  fall  of  snow,  but  without  wind, — 
which  makes  the  landscape  beautiful.  The  trees  are  all  in 
full  blossom  with  snowflakes. 

To  J.  T.  Fields. 

December  17,  1879. 

Thanks  for  this  pretty  little  volume  of  Verses  for  a  Few 
Friends,  —  the  prettiest  of  Christmas  gifts.  This  morning  I 
have  been  reading  all  the  comic  poems,  and  have  enjoyed 


1879.]  LETTERS.  291 

them  extremely,  and  particularly  my  old  favorite,  'The 
Owl  Critic.'  Thanks  again  and  again ! 

What  do  you  know  of  the  proposed  dinner  in  New  York 
on  Burns's  birthday  ?  I  have  received  the  most  tremen 
dous  invitation  from  a  gentleman,  —  in  authority,  I  sup 
pose,  —  in  which  he  says  :  "  It  will  be,  in  fact,  as  it  were 
not  merely  a  meeting  of  mental  and  moral  giants,  but, 
metaphorically  speaking,  a  council  of  literary  giants." 

Only  think  of  it !  What  a  dinner-party ! l 

1  Mr.  Longfellow  of  course  did  not  attend  this  dinner,  if  it  ever  was 
given.  But  the  invitation  turned  his  thoughts  toward  Burns  ;  and 
we  probably  owe  to  it  the  poem  which  he  wrote  some  months  later, 
and  which  was  printed  in  Ultima  Thule.  Its  publication  brought 
him  two  letters  from  Scotland,  in  which  there  is  something  more 
singular  than  that  they  should  have  reached  him  on  the  same  day. 
Here  is  the  first :  — 

THORNLIEBANK,  GLASGOW,  July  18,  1880. 

MASTER,  —  Permit  me  to  thank  you  for  your  wonderful  verses,  which  I  have 
just  read  to-day,  on  Robert  Burns.  They  will  touch  the  heart  of  every  true 
Scotsman  ;  and,  as  one,  I  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  my  gratitude. 

I  am  your  humble  servant, 

R.  L. 

The  second  reads  thus  :  — 

JAMES  SQUARE,  EDINBURGH,  July  19. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Hoping  that  the  information  conveyed  herein  may  be  a  suffi 
cient  warrant  for  the  intrusion  of  a  stranger.  Your  new  poem  about  Robert 
Burns  has  created  a  melancholy  interest.  When  Burns  was  on  his  death-bed, 
in  Dumfries,  one  of  the  Baillies  of  the  town  went  to  his  bedside  and  endeavored 
to  get  him  to  express  a  belief  of,  and  trust  in,  Christ.  Instead  of  doing  so, 
Burns  replied  :  "  In  a  hundred  years  they  will  be  worshipping  me."  Of  the  truth 
of  these  facts  there  is  no  room  for  doubt,  as  the  Baillie  told  the  foregoing  to  a 

Miss  H ,  of  Dumfries,  who  was  an  elderly  lady  in  my  young  days,  and  she 

told  it  to  me.  Burns  had  no  personal  experience  of  the  human  soul  created 
anew  in  Christ  Jesus,  without  which  there  can  be  no  entrance  into  heaven. 
But  Burns  had  extensive  knowledge  of  fallen  human  nature.  It  was  this  that 
led  him  to  prophesy  that  in  a  hundred  years  men  would  be  worshipping  him,  — 
a  prophecy  which  is  being  fulfilled  in  many  quarters.  Your  poem  is  an  in 
stance  of  it.  These  facts  having  been  brought  before  you,  it  will  not  surprise 
you  that  the  last  verse  of  your  poem  made  me  feel  that  it  was  an  effort  to  hold 
fellowship  and  friendly  intercourse  with  one  in  the  place  of  eternal  woe. 


292  LETTERS.  [1879- 

One  may  imagine  a  way  of  presenting  the  theological  dogma  which 
might  have  awakened  the  poet's  impatient  reply  But  it  must  be 
permitted,  under  the  circumstances,  to  doubt  whether  Burns's  words 
are  exactly  quoted.  Still,  they  would  not  mean  anything  very  bad 
if  by  "  worship  "  he  intended  only  such  homage  as  "  the  last  verse  " 
is  "an  instance  of : "  — 

"  His  presence  haunts  this  room  to-night, — 
A  form  of  mingled  mist  and  light, 

From  that  far  coast. 
Welcome  beneath  this  roof  of  mine ! 
Welcome  !  this  vacant  chair  is  thine, 
Dear  guest  and  ghost!  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  LAST  YE AHS. 

1880-1882. 

January  1.  I  begin  the  year  with  a  Folk-song. 
Have  written  to-day  '  The  Maiden  and  the  Weathercock,' 
to  keep  company  with  'The  Sifting  of  Peter,'  written 
some  weeks  ago. 

2d.  Six  Pennsylvanians  and  one  Bostonian  called,  in 
a  body. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  25,  1880. 

E was  here  this  morning,  and  said  that  he  had 

some  new  ideas  on  the  hexameter.  I  told  him  I  thought 
the  rules  of  that  metre  were  pretty  well  established 
already ;  but  he  blandly  insisted  that  he  had  his  own 
views  on  the  subject. 

Day  after  to-morrow  will  be  my  birthday.  As  the 
Spaniards  say,  "Mis  setenta  y  tres  anos,  no  hay  quien 
me  los  quite." 1  I  heartily  wish  the  day  were  over ;  for 
such  a  multitude  of  letters  as  I  receive  from  schoolboys 
and  schoolgirls  who  are  going  to  celebrate  the  day,  is 
quite  amazing.  If  I  were  Briareus,  or  a  disembodied  echo, 

1  "  My  seventy-three  years,  there  is  no  one  who  can  take  them 
from  me." 


294 


THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1880. 


I  could  not  answer  them.  You  will  say  that  Briareus 
could  not  write,  —  which  is  highly  probable ;  and  that 
echo  never  answers  anything,  but  only  repeats  what  is 
said, —  and  that  is  certainly  true. 

We  have  a  charming  actress  here,  —  Miss  Neilson.  I 
have  seen  her  in  Twelfth  Night  and  in  Cymbeline ;  and 
she  is  admirable  in  both. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  18,  1880. 

I  have  written  several  poems  of  late ;  one  of  which, 
'  The  Windmill,'  I  send  you.  You  will  see  at  a  glance  it 
is  not  your  windmill ;  for  yours  is  like  a  butterfly  with 
its  wings  pulled  off.  I  think  this  is  the  first  poem  ever 
written  on  the  subject. 

I  have  a  little  volume  in  press,  to  appear  early  in  the 
autumn.  I  call  it  Ultima  Thule ;  and  the  motto  is  from 
Horace :  — 

"  precor,  Integra 

Cum  mente,  nee  turpem  senectam 
Degere,  nee  citharS  carentem."  l 

I  am  anxious  to  read  the  whole  to  you.  When  will 
you  and  your  wife  come  ?  E.  has  moved  to  Boston,  and 
the  vacant  room  awaits  you.  The  weather  is  not  all  you 
could  wish,  but  the  welcome  will  be. 


May  19.  Our  opinions  are  biassed  by  our  limitations. 
Poets  who  cannot  write  long  poems  think  that  no  long 
poems  should  be  written. 

1  "  My  prayer  is,  that  with  mind  unshattered  I  may  pass  an  old 
age  neither  unworthy-  nor  without  song."  —  Odes,  I.  xxxi. 
The  volume  was  dedicated  to  Mr.  Greene,  in  a  poem. 


1880.]  THE  LAST  YEAKS. 


295 


June  13.  Yesterday  I  had  a  visit  from  two  schools; 
some  sixty  girls  and  boys,  in  all.  It  seems  to  give  them 
so  much  pleasure,  that  it  gives  me  pleasure. 

21st.  The  Brazilian  Consul-General  called,  with  a 
message  of  friendly  remembrance  from  his  Emperor,  Dom 
Pedro,  who  invites  me  to  be  his  guest  at  Rio  for  a  month. 

Also  Mrs.  N ,  and  Miss  S of  New  York,  who 

gave  me  a  fan  curiously  made  of  fibres  of  Indian  corn, 
and  resembling  a  great  sunflower.  Then  Mr.  Henry  Hud 
son,  of  Shakespeare  fame,  with  three  young  ladies. 

September  15.     Ultima  Thule  published.1 

To  Mrs.  J.  T.  Fields. 

September  29,  1880. 

Thanks  for  your  kind  and  most  amiable  letter ;  as 
many  thanks  as  there  are  poems  in  the  book  you  so  gen 
erously  praise.  Each  of  them  shall  thank  you. 

I  regret  more  than  ever  that  I  could  not  come  to 
Manchester  this  summer.  I  was  pulled  about  in  the 
most  extraordinary  manner,  —  first  to  Nahant,  then  to 
Portland,  then  back  again  to  Nahant,  then  to  East  Green 
wich,  then  Nahant  once  more ;  finally  bringing  up  here, 
and  coming  to  anchor  in  the  old  Snug  Harbor.  The  visit 
to  Greenwich  was  to  attend  the  wedding.  And  a  beauti 
ful  wedding  it  was ;  an  ideal  village  wedding,  in  a  pretty 
church ;  —  the  Windmill  Cottage  of  our  friend  Greene 

1  Mr.  Lowell  wrote  him  from  London  :  "  I  have  just  been  read 
ing,  with  a  feeling  I  will  not  mar  by  trying  to  express  it,  your 
Ultima  Thule.  You  will  understand  the  pang  of  pleasurable  home 
sickness  it  gave  me.  It  is  like  you,  from  the  first  line  to  the  last. 
Never  was  your  hand  firmer.  If  Gil  Bias  had  been  your  secretary, 
he  need  never  have  lost  his  place.  If  I  could  drop  in  on  you  as  I 
used,  ...  I  should  tell  you  that  you  had  misreckoned  the  height  of 
the  sun,  and  were  not  up  with  Ultima  Thule  by  a  good  many  degrees 
yet.  Do  such  fruits  grow  there  ? " 


296  THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1880. 

resplendent  with  autumnal  flowers.  In  one  of  the  rooms 
was  a  tea-kettle  hanging  on  a  crane  in  the  fireplace.  So 
begins  a  new  household. 

Yesterday  Mrs.  Horsford  came  with  letters  from  Nor 
way,  giving  particulars  of  Ole  Bull's  last  days,  his  death, 
and  burial.  The  account  is  very  touching.  All  Bergen's 
flags  at  half-mast ;  telegram  from  the  King ;  funeral  ora 
tion  by  the  poet  Bjornsen.  The  dear  old  musician  was 
carried  from  his  island  to  the  mainland  in  a  steamboat, 
followed  by  a  long  line  of  others.  No  viking  ever  had 
such  a  funeral. 

October  11.  It  is  not  the  possession  of  a  thing,  but  the 
use  of  it,  which  gives  it  value. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

November  23,  1880. 

I  hope  you  will  be  here  when  the  Mapleson  Italian 
Opera  comes  ;  you  will  hear  fine  music. 

But  the  new  operas,  —  ah !  I  do  not  think  you  would 
care  much  for  them.  For  my  own  part,  I  confess,  I  like 
the  music  of  the  past  better  than  the  music  of  the  future. 
At  present,  we  are  ground  between  the  upper  and  nether 
millstones  of  the  two ;  and  rather  a  pleasant  grind  it  is, 
after  all. 

The  other  night  I  went  to  hear  Boito's  Mefistofele ; 
very  powerful,  but  wild  and  weird  beyond  conception. 
Boito,  you  know,  is  called  "  the  Wagner  of  Italy." 


December  4.  A  censorious  critic  is  often  like  a  boy 
sharpening  a  penknife.  The  blade  suddenly  closes  and 
cuts  his  fingers. 

8th.  I  have  often  had  great  joy  in  little  things,  —  and 
often  little  joy  in  great  things. 


1880.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  297 

To  Miss  B . 

December  9,  1880. 

In  reply  to  your  letter  received  this  morning,  I  would 
inform  you  that  in  the  poem  of  '  The  Singers '  I  intended 
to  indicate  schools  or  classes  only,  —  the  Lyric,  the  Epic, 
and  the  Devotional  or  Didactic.  I  had  no  reference 
whatever  to  individual  poets,  except  so  far  as  they  are 
types  or  representatives  of  these  classes. 

From  Lord  Hougkton. 

ELMETE  HALL,  1880. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  Mr.  Henschel,  our  chief 
bass-singer,  desires  to  be  introduced  to  you.  It  is  pleas 
ant  to  present  singer  to  singer.  Mr.  H.  is  a  German  by 
origin,  but  has  made  himself  half  an  Englishman,  and  is 
going,  in  a  very  short  time,  to  make  himself,  for  the  other 
and  better  half,  an  American,  by  marrying  a  Boston  lady. 
I  write  from  the  great  Musical  Festival  at  Leeds,  my 
neighboring  town,  which  has  had  this  peculiarity,  that  its 
two  most  successful  pieces  have  been  good  music  applied 
to  good  poetry.  Music  is  usually  married  to  such  very 
wretched  verse  that  to  hear  Milman's  '  Martyr  of  Anti- 
och '  and  your  '  Building  of  the  Ship  '  set  to  harmony  and 
admirably  sung,  has  been  a  rare  aesthetic  pleasure.  I  am 
too  glad  of  this  and  every  opportunity  to  express  to  you 
my  deep  regard,  and  to  hope  that  your  Ultima  Thule 
may  turn  out  to  be  no  more  true  than  the  Britannic  one 
of  the  old  Eoman  poet. 1 

I  am  yours  very  truly, 

HOUGHTON. 

1  The  reference,  of  course,  is  to  the  chorus  in  Seneca's  Medea, 

ending,  — 

"  Nee  sit  terris 
Ultima  Thule." 

"  And  no  more  shall  Thule  be  the  last  of  the  lands." 


THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1881. 

25th.  In  the  forenoon  General  Sherman  called,  with 
his  son-in-law,  Lieutenant  Thackara,  of  the  Navy,  Colonel 

Bacon,  his  aide-de-camp,  and  Mr. ,  of  Boston.  Then 

Sam  Ward  and ,  who  reminds  me  of  the  Baroness  in 

Wilhelm  Meister.  In  the  evening,  music. 

January  1,  1881.  Bitter  cold  weather.  With  fire  and 
furnace  in  full  hlast,  impossible  to  warm  the  house. 

3d.  Seventeen  letters  received  to-day;  all  but  three 
asking  some  favor! 

6th.     Salvini  and  Monti  at  lunch. 

8th.  Monti  at  dinner.  In  the  evening  he  played  to 
us  from  the  Sonnambula. 

13th.  After  all,  great  writers,  even  the  greatest,  illu 
mine  but  a  small  space  round  them,  —  at  most,  a  little 
hemisphere  of  light.  Egypt,  Arabia,  Turkey,  Persia,  China, 
know  nothing  of  Dante  or  Shakespeare  or  Milton. 

February  21.  Some  forty  or  more  schools  in  the  West 
are  preparing  -to  celebrate  my  seventy-fourth  birthday; 
and  all  write  me  letters  and  request  letters.  I  send  to 
each  some  stanza,  with  signature  and  good  wishes. 

22d.  A  gentleman  writes  me  for  "  your  autograph  in 
your  own  handwriting." 

23d.  Two  women  in  black  called  to-day.  One  of 
them  said  she  was  a  descendant  of  the  English  philoso 
pher,  John  Locke ;  and  that  she  was  going  to  establish  a 
society  for  the  suppression  of  cruelty  to  letter-carriers. 
A  lady  in  Ohio  sends  me  one  hundred  blank  cards,  with 
the  request  that  I  will  write  my  name  on  each,  as  she 
wishes  to  distribute  them  among  her  guests  at  a  party  she 
is  to  give  on  my  birthday. 

24th.  Am  receiving  from  ten  to  twenty  letters  daily 
with  all  kinds  of  questions  and  requests. 

25th.  Letters,  letters,  letters!  Some  I  answer,  but 
many,  and  most,  I  cannot. 


1881.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  299 

26th.  A  birthday  dinner  in  advance,  at  Mr.  Houghton's. 
Holmes,  Howells,  Aldrich,  Miss  Bates,  and  Miss  Jewett, 
author  of  Deephaven. 

27th.  My  seventy-fourth  birthday.  I  am  surrounded 
by  roses  and  lilies.  Flowers  everywhere,  — 

"  And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends." 

March  1.  I  like  fog,  it  is  so  mysterious,  transfiguring 
all  things.  The  wind  drives  it  like  a  smoke.  The  brown 
branches  of  the  trees  against  the  dusk  of  the  sky. 

April  1.  A  pleasant  beginning  of  the  month  after  a 
week  of  snow  and  rain,  which  have  kept  me  prisoner. 
Have  read  with  much  interest  Abel  Stevens's  Life  of 
Mme.  de  StaeL 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  3,  1881. 

The  bad  weather  of  last  week,  and  a  bad  cold  of  my 
own,  made  me  give  up  my  intended  trip  to  Germantown, 
which  I  believe  I  mentioned  in  my  last  letter. 

The  famous  French  actress,  Sara  Bernhardt,  has  been 
again  in  Boston,  but  I  did  not  see  her.  The  fame  of  her 
extreme  thinness  has  reached  far  and  wide.  A  common 
man,  driving  by  here  in  a  cart,  with  a  poor  lank  horse, 
gave  him  a  cut  with  his  whip,  crying,  "  Get  up  !  Sara 
Bernhardt ! " 

As  an  offset  to  this,  here  is  a  portrait  of  me,  as  I 
seemed  to  a  compositor  in  the  summer  of  1851,  when  he 
was  setting  up  The  Golden  Legend.  He  is  now  an  editor 
in  Lansing,  and  thus  paints  me  in  his  paper :  "  He  was 
then  a  hale,  portly,  fine-looking  man,  nearly  six  feet  in 
height,  well-proportioned,  with  a  tendency  to  fatness ; 
brown  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  bearing  the  general  appear- 


300  THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1881. 

ance  of  a  comfortable  hotel-keeper."  This  surpasses  the 
Newport  bookseller,  who  exclaimed,  "Why!  you  look 
more  like  a  sea-captain  than  a  poet ! " 

I  send  you  to-day,  an  English  publisher's  circular,  with 
some  remarks  on  international  copyright. 


6th.  There  is  great  pleasure  in  doing  without  things ; 
quite  as  much  sometimes,  I  think,  as  in  having  them. 

18th.  At  the  Globe,  to  see  Salvini  in  Othello.  He  in 
Italian ;  the  rest  in  English. 

10th.  Salvini  came  this  afternoon,  and  read  me  a  paper 
he  has  written  on  Hamlet,  Othello,  and  Macbeth. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

April  25,  1881. 

I  told  you  some  time  ago  that  Fields  was  suffering 
from  angina  pectoris.  He  seemed  to  recover,  and  was 
here  a  week  ago,  not  quite  well,  but  in  his  usual  merry 
mood. 

Last  night,  about  ten  o'clock,  sitting  among  his  friends, 
a  sudden  alarm  of  fire  startled  him;  he  sprang  up  and 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  then  sank  into  a  chair,  rallied 
for  a  moment,  and  died.  His  funeral  will  be  to-morrow,  at 
noon ;  very  private,  to  avoid  a  crowd. 

Another  friend  gone  !  It  is  a  great  shock  to  me,  as  it 
will  be  to  you. 


29th.  A  sorrowful  and  distracted  week.  Fields  died 
on  Sunday,  the  24th,  and  was  buried  on  Tuesday.  Dr. 
Palfrey  died  on  Tuesday,  and  will  be  buried  to-day.  Two 
old  and  intimate  friends  in  one  week  ! 


1881.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  301 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  16, 1881. 

A  book  by  the  window  is  the  best  medicine.  I  have 
been  trying  Walpole's  Letters,  which  are  always  a  remedy 
for  a  dull  hour. 

Edith  and  her  boys  are  with  me,  and  bring  back  the 
Golden  Age  to  the  old  house. 

"  Jam  nova  progenies  caelo  demittitur  alto," 

and  child-voices  are  heard  again  from  the  upper  cham 
bers,  and  footsteps  of  the  coming  generation. 

I  have  written  some  lines  in  memory  of  Fields,  which 
you  will  find  on  the  last  page  of  the  June  Atlantic.1 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

June  22,  1881. 

I  have  not  written  to  you  of  late,  because  I  have  a  lame 
wrist,  and  writing  is  painful.  But  I  will  try  to  answer 
your  questions  as  well  as  I  can. 

During  my  first  visit  to  Europe,  I  wrote  no  verses,  save 
the  few  lines  preserved  in  Outre-Mer.  In  France,  my 
reading  was  mostly  prose ;  in  Spain,  it  was  about  equally 
divided  between  poetry  and  prose  ;  in  Italy  mostly  poetry ; 
and  in  Germany  the  same. 

I  do  not  remember  translating  anything  before  going 
to  Brunswick.  I  think  I  began  with  the  poem  of  Luis  de 
Gongora, '  Let  me  go  warm.'  You  will  find  it  in  Poets  and 
Poetry  of  Europe,  page  695.  This  was  in  1829  or  1830. 
Then  followed  various  pieces  in  the  North  American 
Review  articles,  and  finally,  the  Coplas  de  Manrique. 

I  am  sorry  you  are  feeling  depressed.  But  we  must 
neither  of  us  hope  to  be  as  strong  as  we  were  fifty  years 
ago.  I  am  also  sorry  I  could  not  have  you  this  month  of 

1  '  Auf  Wiedersehen  :  in  memory  of  J.  T.  F.' 


302  THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1881. 

June,  though  you  would  have  shivered  with  cold.  After 
all,  it  may  be  lucky  you  did  not  come.  Immediately  after 
the  noisy  and  patriotic  Fourth,  I  shall  run  to  Portland  for 
a  week,  and  then  go  to  Nahant. 

I  send  you  some  autographs  for  your  mother,  with  my 
kindest  regards. 

To  G.  W.  Greme. 

PORTLAND,  July  12,  1881. 

Portland  has  lost  none  of  its  charms.  The  weather  is 
superb,  and  the  air  equal  to  that  of  Newport  or  East 
Greenwich  or  any  other  Khode  Island  seashore.  I  shall 
remain  here  a  week  or  two  longer,  and  think  of  running  up 
to  North  Con  way  and  to  Sebago,  to  see  the  winding  Songo 
once  more.  If  I  carried  out  all  my  plans,  I  should  be  a 
great  traveller.  The  end  of  this  month  and  the  month  of 
August  I  shall  devote  to  Nahant;  then  back  to  the  Craigie 
House,  —  if  it  is  n't  burnt  down,  as  I  always  fancy  it  will 
be  when  I  am  away. 

It  is  very  pleasant  sitting  here  and  dictating  letters.  It 
is  like  thinking  what  one  will  say,  without  taking  the 
trouble  of  writing  it.  I  have  discovered  a  new  pleasure. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  20,  1881. 

Since  learning  the  sad  news  from  Long  Branch  this 
morning  [of  President  Garfield's  death],  Dante's  line  has 
been  running  in  my  mind :  — 

"  E  venni  dal  martirio  a  questa  pace."  1 

And  what  a  martyrdom !  Twelve  weeks  of  pain  and 
struggle  for  life  at  last  are  ended. 

1  Paradise  xv.  148 :  "  I  came  from  martyrdom  unto  this  peace." 
So  closes  the  sonnet  which  he  wrote  on  Garfield's  death. 


±- 
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1881.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  303 

Let  us  turn  to  some  other  subject.  You  will  be  glad 
to  know  that  we  are  having  a  copy  made  in  Florence  of 
Benvenuto  da  Imola's  Commentary  on  the  Divina  Corn- 
media.  Within  a  year  we  shall  have  the  first  volume 
ready  for  the  press,  and  if  we  can  get  subscribers  enough, 
it  will  be  published  without  delay. 

I  send  back  the  foolish  verses  to  which  some  wag  has 
appended  your  name ;  I  hope  you  will  take  no  notice  of 
the  matter.  If  nothing  is  said,  it  will  soon  be  forgotten. 
Only  you  might  leave  a  disavowal  of  the  authorship 
among  your  papers,  so  that  no  one  can  say  you  never 
denied  it. 

I  am  rather  busy  with  answering  schoolgirls. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

September  26,  1881. 

What  splendid  weather  is  this  !  It  is  truly  Virgil's 
"  alienis  mensibus  aestas,"  or  as  Harriet  Preston  so  grace 
fully  translates  it,  — 

"  Summer  days 
In  months  that  are  not  summer's." 

I  am  glad  there  should  be  so  resplendent  a  morning  as 
this  for  the  funeral  of  our  President.  Let  us  hope  that 
our  new  King  Arthur  may  have  inherited  the  virtues  of 
his  illustrious  namesake,  and  will  not  undervalue  or 
neglect  his  great  opportunity. 

I  have  lately  received  from  the  Duca  di  Sermoneta, 
his  Tre  Chiose,  on  certain  passages  of  the  Commedia.  He 
thinks  that  the  angel  who  opens  the  gates  of  the  City  of 
T)is  by  a  touch  of  his  rod,  was  not  an  angel  at  all,  but 
—  who  do  you  think  ?  Simply  ^Eneas  !  I  have  also  re 
ceived  from  Holland  translations  in  Dutch  of  Outre-Mer, 
Kavanagh,  and  Hyperion. 


304  THE  LAST  YEARS.  [18S1. 

My  summer-scattered  family  are  slowly  gathering 
together  again.  Nichols  comes  with  his  proof-sheets. 
JRedeunt  Saturnia  regna  ! 

A  year  ago, was  engaged  to  make  an  Index  to  Sum- 

ner's  Works.  At  the  last  accounts  he  had  completed  six 
pages  of  the  first  volume.  At  this  rate,  he  will  not  finish 
his  work  before  the  middle  of  the  next  century !  I  am 
making  the  Index  myself,  and  have  already  reached  the 
tenth  volume. 

October.  This  month  and  all  November  and  December 
I  was  confined  to  my  room  by  a  violent  attack  of  vertigo, 
followed  by  nervous  prostration. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

October  28,  1881. 

I  am  creeping  along  slowly,  but  have  not  yet  left  my 
room.  I  amuse  myself  as  well  as  I  can,  by  looking  out 
of  the  window  and  seeing  the  leaves  fall.  Then  I  take 
a  turn  at  Miss  Berry's  Journal  and  Correspondence.  — 
Walpole's  Miss  Berry,  —  which  I  find  very  amusing. 

I  go  to  bed  early  and  get  up  late,  and  like  it  so  well 
that  I  mean  to  stay  in  my  room  a  long  while  yet,  —  per 
haps  all  winter.  I  see  no  one  as  yet,  and  find  something 
rather  pleasant  in  having  the  world  shut  out.  This  free 
dom  from  callers  is  a  great  relief. 

" '  Shut,  shut  the  door,  good  John,'  fatigued,  I  said, 
" '  Tie  up  the  knocker,  —  say  I  'm  sick,  I  'm  dead.'  " 

Miss  Berry  says,  "  I  suffer  from  what  I  am,  from  what 
I  have  been,  from  what  I  might  have  been,  and  from 
what  I  never  shall  be."  Very  well  said.  I  suppose  every 
one  suffers  at  times  from  some  such  fleeting  fancy  as  this. 

Whittier  writes  me  that  he  dreads  the  coming  winter. 
I  do  not ;  the  thought  brings  with  it  a  sense  of  rest  and 
seclusion. 


1881.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  305 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

* 

[Enclosing  a  printed  circular.] 

November  28,  1881. 

I  have  come  to  this  at  last,  and  find  it  an  immense 
relief :  — 

"  On  account  of  illness,  Mr.  Longfellow  finds  it  impossible  to 
answer  any  letters  at  present. 

"  He  can  only  acknowledge  their  receipt,  and  regret  his  inability 
to  do  more. 

"CAMBRIDGE,  MASS." 

Of  course  it  isn't  meant  for  you  and  other  friends, 
but  for  those  who  begin  their  letters  with  the  words, 
"  Though  an  entire  stranger." 

I  will  attend  to  your  request  about  Ultima  Thule,  as 
soon  as  I  am  well  enough.  I  am  getting  better  slowly 
from  day  to  day;  no  perceptible  difference,  only  from 
week  to  week.  To-day  I  am  better  than  I  have  been  at 
any  time. 

I  do  not  know  who  is  to  write  a  Life  of  Fields.  Mrs. 
Fields  has  already  published  her  Eeminiscences,  which 
are  very  interesting,  and  written  with  good  taste  and  judg 
ment,  —  a  difficult  task  well  done. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

December  25,  1881. 

I  begin  by  wishing  you  a  Merry  Christmas  !  Mine, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  not  a  very  merry  one.  I  don't  get 
strength  yet,  and  consequently,  don't  get  well.  Pazienza  ! 
I  agree  with  you  about  the  North  American  Eeview. 
There  is  a  bit  of  the  romance  of  our  youth  connected  with 
it.  If  we  were  young,  we  should  probably  want  to  get 
possession  of  it.  It  should  return,  like  the  Prodigal  Son, 

20 


306  THE  LAST  YEARS.  [1882. 

to  its  father's  house,  and  become  again  a  solid  and  respect 
able  quarterly. 

I  send  you  a  little  cutting  from  a  newspaper,  which 
will  gratify  you.  I  was  sorry  not  to  see  the  French  dele 
gation  when  it  was  here.1 

To  William  Senter  (Mayor  of  Portland). 

January  12,  1882. 

I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  letter,  with  its 
enclosed  copy  of  the  liesolutions  of  the  city  authorities  of 
Portland  in  reference  to  my  seventy-fifth  birthday.  I 
hasten  to  thank  you  and  them  for  the  honor  conferred 
upon  me.  I  hardly  need  assure  you,  dear  sir,  that  this 
mark  of  consideration  from  my  native  city  is  very  gratify 
ing  to  me  ;  and  I  regret  extremely  that,  on  account  of  my 
ill-health,  I  am  forced  to  decline  the  public  reception  of 
fered  me.  My  physician  has  prescribed  absolute  rest ;  and 
I  do  not  see  any  chance  of  my  being  able  to  go  to  Port 
land  in  February,  so  slow  is  recovery  from  nervous  pros 
tration. 

I  am,  dear  sir,  with  great  regard,  yours  faithfully. 

To  Samuel  Ward. 

January  23,  1882. 

"  Whom  the  gods  love,  die  young,"  because  they  never 
grow  old,  though  they  may  live  to  fourscore  years  and 
upward.  So  say  I  whenever  I  read  your  graceful  and 
sportive  fancies  in  the  papers  you  send  me  or  in  those  I 

1  A  party  of  Trench  officers  and  civilians,  among  them  a  grand 
son  of  Lafayette,  had,  by  invitation,  come  over  to  attend  the  centen 
nial  celebration  of  the  Surrender  of  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown,  which 
closed  the  War  of  the  Revolution.  They  visited  Craigie  House,  but 
Mr.  Longfellow  was  not  well  enough  to  see  them. 


1882.]  THE  LAST  YEARS.  307 

send  you.     I  am  now  waiting  for  the  last  announced  in 
your  letter  of  yesterday,  but  not  yet  arrived. 

Pardon  my  not  writing  sooner  and  oftener.  My  day  is 
very  short,  as  I  get  up  late,  and  go  to  bed  early, —  a  kind 
of  Arctic  winter's  day,  when  the  sun  is  above  the  horizon 
for  a  few  hours  only. 

Yes,  the  '  Hermes '  went  into  the  Century.1 
I  come  back  to  where  I  began,  —  the  perpetual  youth 
of  some  people.  You  remember  the  anecdote  of  Ducis. 
When  somebody  said  of  him,  "  II  est  tombe"  en  enfance," 
a  friend  replied,  "  Non,  il  est  rentr^  en  jeunesse."  That 
is  the  polite  way  of  putting  things. 

To  Bessie  M .2 

March  16,  1882. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  BESSIE,  —  I  thank  you  very  much  for 
the  poem  you  wrote  me  on  my  birthday,  a  copy  of  which 
your  father  sent  me.  It  was  very  sweet  and  simple,  and 
does  you  great  credit.  I  do  not  think  there  are  many 
girls  of  your  age  who  can  write  so  well.  I  myself  do  not 
know  of  any.  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  remember  my 
birthday  at  all,  and  to  have  you  remember  it  in  so  sweet 
a  way  is  very  pleasant  and  gratifying  to  me. 

1  The  poem  '  Hermes  Trismegistus.'    After  this,  Mr.  Longfellow 
wrote  but  four  poems,  —  '  Mad  River,'  '  Possibilities,'  '  Decoration 
Day,'  and  'The  Bells  of  San  Bias.' 

2  This  note,  addressed  to  a  young  girl  in  Pennsylvania,  was  prob 
ably  the  last  letter  written  by  Mr.  Longfellow.     Two  days  later  he 
was  seized  with  the  illness  which  proved  fatal. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

REMINISCENCES. 

THROUGH  the  kindness  of  the  writers  I  have 
been  permitted  to  include  in  this  volume  some 
personal  recollections  which  have  already  appeared 
in  print.  The  first  of  these  in  point  of  date  is 
from  the  pen  of  Mr.  William  Winter. 

The  least  of  us  who  have  recollections  of  such  a  man 
as  Longfellow  may  surely  venture,  now,  to  add  them  to 
the  general  stock  of  knowledge  without  incurring  the 
reproach  of  intrusiveness.  My  remembrance  of  him  goes 
back  to  a  period  about  thirty  years  ago,  when  he  was  a 
professor  in  Harvard  University.  I  had  read  every  line 
he  had  then  published  ;  and  such  was  the  affection  he 
inspired,  even  in  a  boyish  mind,  that  on  many  a  summer 
night  I  have  walked  several  miles  to  his  house,  only  to 
put  my  hand  upon  the  latch  of  his  gate,  which  he  himself 
had  touched.  More  than  any  one  else  among  the  many 
famous  persons  whom,  since  then,  it  has  been  my  fortune 
to  know,  he  aroused  this  feeling  of  mingled  tenderness 
and  reverence.  I  saw  him  often  —  walking  in  the  streets 
of  Cambridge,  or  looking  at  the  books  in  the  old  shop  of 
Ticknor  and  Fields  at  the  corner  of  Washington  and 
School  streets  in  Boston  —  long  before  I  was  honored 
with  his  personal  acquaintance ;  and  I  observed  him 
closely,  —  as  a  youth  naturally  observes  the  object  of  his 
honest  admiration.  His  dignity  and  grace,  and  the  beau- 


REMINISCENCES.  309 

tiful  refinement  of  his  countenance,  together  with  his 
perfect  taste  in  dress  and  the  exquisite  simplicity  of  his 
manners,  made  him  the  absolute  ideal  of  what  a  poet 
should  be.  His  voice,  too,  was  soft,  sweet,  and  musical, 
and,  like  his  face,  it  had  the  innate  charm  of  tranquillity. 
His  eyes  were  blue-gray,  very  bright  and  brave,  change 
able  under  the  influence  of  emotion  (as,  afterward,  I  often 
saw)  ;  but  mostly  calm,  grave,  attentive,  and  gentle.  The 
habitual  expression  of  his  face  was  not  that  of  sadness ; 
and  yet  it  was  pensive.  Perhaps  it  may  be  best  described 
as  that  of  serious  and  tender  thoughtfulness.  He  had 
conquered  his  own  sorrows  thus  far ;  but  the  sorrows  of 
others  threw  their  shadow  over  him,  —  as  he  sweetly  and 
humanely  says  in  his  pathetic  ballad  of  '  The  Bridge.' 
One  day  (after  he  had  bestowed  on  me  the  honor  and 
blessing  of  his  friendship,  which,  thank  God,  I  never  lost) 
he  chanced  to  stop  his  carriage  just  in  front  of  the  old 
Tudor  Building  in  Court  Street,  Boston,  to  speak  to  me  ; 
and  I  remember  observing  then  the  sweet,  wistful,  half- 
sad,  far-away  look  in  his  sensitive  face,  and  thinking  he 
looked  like  a  man  who  had  suffered,  or  might  yet  suffer, 
great  affliction.  There  was  a  strange  touch  of  sorrowful 
majesty  and  prophetic  fortitude  commingled  with  the 
composure  and  kindness  of  his  features. 

It  was  in  April,  1854,  that  I  became  personally  ac 
quainted  with  Longfellow ;  and  he  was  the  first  literary 
friend  I  ever  had,  —  greeting  me  as  a  young  aspirant  in 
literature,  and  holding  out  to  me  the  hand  of  fellowship 
and  encouragement.  He  allowed  me  to  dedicate  to  him 
a  volume  of  my  verses,  published  in  that  year,  being  the 
first  of  my  ventures.  .  .  .  His  spontaneous  desire,  the 
natural  instinct  of  his  great  heart,  was  to  be  helpful,  — 
to  lift  up  the  lowly,  to  strengthen  the  weak,  to  bring  out 
the  best  in  every  person,  to  dry  every  tear,  and  make 
every  pathway  smooth.  It  is  saying  but  little  to  say  that 


310  REMINISCENCES. 

he  never  spoke  a  harsh  word,  except  against  injustice  and 
wrong.  He  was  the  natural  friend  and  earnest  advocate 
of  every  good  cause  and  right  idea.  His  words  about  the 
absent  were  always  considerate,  and  he  never  lost  a  prac 
tical  opportunity  of  doing  good. 

For  the  infirmities  of  humanity  he  was  charity  itself, 
and  he  shrank  from  harshness  as  from  a  positive  sin.  "It 
is  the  prerogative  of  the  poet,"  he  once  said  to  me,  in  those 
old  days,  "  to  give  pleasure ;  but  it  is  the  critic's  province 
to  give  pain."  He  had,  indeed,  but  a  slender  esteem  for 
the  critic's  province.  Yet  his  tolerant  nature  found  ex 
cuses  for  even  as  virulent  and  hostile  a  critic  as  his  assail 
ant  and  traducer,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  of  whom  I  have 
heard  him  speak  with  genuine  pity.  His  words  were  few 
and  unobtrusive,  and  they  clearly  indicated  his  conscious 
ness  that  Poe  had  grossly  abused  and  maligned  him  ;  but 
instead  of  resentment  for  injury,  they  displayed  only  sor 
row  for  an  unfortunate  and  half-crazed  adversary.  There 
was  a  little  volume  of  Poe's  poems  —  an  English  edition 
—  on  the  library  table  ;  and  at  sight  of  this  I  was  prompted 
to  ask  Longfellow  if  Poe  had  ever  personally  met  him,  — 
"  because,"  I  said,  "  if  he  had  known  you,  it  is  impossible 
he  could  have  written  about  you  in  such  a  manner."  He 
answered  that  he  had  never  seen  Poe.  .  .  .  Then,  after  a 
pause  of  musing,  he  added,  very  gravely :  "  My  works 
seemed  to  give  him  much  trouble,  first  and  last ;  but  Mr. 
Poe  is  dead  and  gone,  and  I  am  alive  and  still  writing  — 
and  that  is  the  end  of  the  matter.  I  never  answered  Mr. 
Poe's  attacks ;  and  I  would  advise  you  now,  at  the  outset 
of  your  literary  life,  never  to  take  notice  of  any  attacks 
that  may  be  made  upon  you.  Let  them  all  pass."  He 
then  took  up  the  volume  of  Poe,  and,  turning  the  leaves, 
particularly  commended  the  stanzas  entitled  'For  Annie' 
and  '  The  Haunted  Palace.'  Then,  still  speaking  of  crit 
icism,  he  mentioned  the  great  number  of  newspaper  and 


REMINISCENCES.  311 

magazine  articles,  about  his  own  writings,  that  were  re 
ceived  by  him,  —  sent,  apparently,  by  their  writers.  "  I 
look  at  the  first  few  lines,"  he  said ;  "  and  if  I  find  that  the 
article  has  been  written  in  a  kindly  spirit,  I  read  it  through : 
but  if  I  find  that  the  intention  is  to  wound,  I  drop  the 
paper  into  my  fire,  and  so  dismiss  it.  In  that  way  one 
escapes  much  annoyance." 

Longfellow  liked  to  talk  of  young  poets,  and  he  had  an 
equally  humorous  and  kind  way  of  noticing  the  foibles  of 
the  literary  character.  Standing  in  the  porch,  one  summer 
day,  and  observing  the  noble  elms  in  front  of  his  house,  he 
recalled  a  visit  made  to  him,  long  before,  by  one  of  the 
many  bards,  now  extinct,  who  are  embalmed  in  Griswold. 
Then  suddenly  assuming  a  burly,  martial  air,  he  seemed 
to  reproduce  for  me  the  exact  figure  and  manner  of  the 
youthful  enthusiast,  who  had  tossed  back  his  long  hair, 
gazed  approvingly  on  the  elms,  and  in  a  deep  voice  ex 
claimed  :  "  I  see,  Mr.  Longfellow,  that  you  have  many  trees 
—  I  love  trees  ! ! "  "  It  was,"  said  the  poet,  "  as  if  he 
gave  a  certificate  to  all  the  neighboring  vegetation."  A 
few  words  like  these,  said  in  Longfellow's  peculiar  dry, 
humorous  manner,  with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye  and  a  quietly 
droll  inflection  of  the  voice,  had  a  certain  charm  of  mirth 
that  cannot  be  described.  It  was  that  same  demure  play 
fulness  which  led  him,  when  writing,  to  speak  of  the  lady 
who  wore  flowers  "  on  the  congregation  side  of  her  bon 
net,"  or  to  extol  those  broad,  magnificent  Western  roads, 
which  "  dwindle  to  a  squirrel-track  and  run  up  a  tree." 
He  had  no  particle  of  the  acidity  of  sparkling  and  biting 
wit ;  but  he  had  abundant,  playful  humor,  that  was  full  of 
kindness,  and  that  toyed  good-naturedly  with  all  the  trifles 
of  life.  That  such  a  sense  of  fun  should  be  amused  by  the 
ludicrous  peculiarities  of  a  juvenile  bard  was  inevitable. 

I  recall  many  talks  with  him  about  poetry,  and  the 
avenues  of  literary  labor,  and  the  discipline  of  the  mind 


312  REMINISCENCES. 

in  youth.  His  counsel  was  always  summed  up  in  two 
words, —  calmness  and  patience.  He  did  not  believe  in 
seeking  experience,  or  in  going  to  meet  burdens.  "  What 
you  desire  will  come,  if  you  will  but  wait  for  it,"  -  —  that 
he  said  to  me  again  and  again.  "  My  ambition  once  was," 
lie  remarked,  "to  edit  a  magazine.  Since  then  the  oppor 
tunity  has  been  offered  to  rne  many  times  —  and  I  did  not 
take  it,  and  would  not."  .  .  . 

His  sense  of  humor  found  especial  pleasure  in  the  inap 
propriate  words  that  were  sometimes  said  to  him  by  per 
sons  whose  design  it  was  to  be  complimentary ;  and  he 
would  relate,  with  a  keen  relish  of  their  pleasantry,  anec 
dotes  to  illustrate  this  form  of  social  blunder.  Years  ago 
he  told  me,  at  Cambridge,  about  the  strange  gentleman 
who  was  led  up  to  him  and  introduced  at  Newport,  and 
who  straightway  said,  with  enthusiastic  fervor :  "  Mr. 
Longfellow,  I  have  long  desired  the  honor  of  knowing 
you  !  Sir,  I  am  one  of  thee  few  men  who  have  read  your 
'  Evangeline.' "... 

About  poetry  he  talked  with  the  earnestness  of  what 
was  a  genuine  passion,  and  yet  with  no  particle  of  self- 
assertion.  Tennyson's  '  Princess  '  was  a  new  book  when 
first  I  heard  him  speak  of  it,  and  I  remember  Mrs.  Long 
fellow  sitting  with  that  volume  in  her  hands  and  reading 
it  by  the  evening  lamp.  The  delicate  loveliness  of  the 
little  lyrical  pieces  that  are  interspersed  throughout  its 
text  was,  in  particular,  dwelt  upon  as  a  supreme  merit. 
Among  his  own  poems  his  favorite  at  that  time  was 
'  Evangeline ; '  but  he  said  that  the  style  of  versification 
which  pleased  him  best  was  that  of  '  The  Day  is  Done ; ' 
nor  do  I  wonder,  reading  this  now,  together  with  'The 
Bridge,'  'Twilight,'  'The  Children's  Hour,'  and  'The  Open 
Window,'  and  finding  them  so  exquisite  both  in  pathos 
and  music.  He  said  also  that  he  sometimes  wrote  poems 
that  were  for  himself  alone,  that  he  should  not  care  ever 


REMINISCENCES.  313 

to  publish,  because  they  were  too  delicate  for  publication. 
One  of  his  sayings  was  that  "  the  desire  of  the  young  poet 
is  not  for  applause,  but  for  recognition."  He  much  com 
mended  the  example,  in  one  respect,  of  the  renowned 
Italian  poet  Alfieri,  who  caused  himself  to  be  bound  into 
his  library  chair  and  left  for  a  certain  period  of  time,  each 
day,  at  his  library  table  —  his  servants  being  strictly  en 
joined  not  to  release  him  till  that  time  had  passed:  by 
this  means  he  forced  himself  to  labor.  No  man  ever  be 
lieved  more  firmly  than  Longfellow  did  in  regular,  pro 
portioned,  resolute,  incessant  industry.  His  poem  of  '  The 
Builders '  contains  his  creed ;  his  poem  of  '  The  Ladder  of 
St.  Augustine'  is  the  philosophy  of  his  career.  Yet  I 
have  many  times  heard  him  say  "the  mind  cannot  be 
controlled ; "  and  the  fact  that  he  was,  when  at  his  best, 
a  poet  of  pure  inspiration,  is  proved  beyond  possibility  of 
doubt  by  such  poems  as  '  Sandalphon,'  '  My  Lost  Youth,' 
'  The  Beleaguered  City,'  '  The  Fire  of  Drift-wood,'  '  Sus- 
piria,'  '  The  Secret  of  the  Sea,'  '  The  Two  Angels,'  and  '  The 
Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports.'  Either  of  them  is  worthy 
of  the  brightest  name  that  ever  was  written  on  the  scroll 
of  the  lyric  Muse. 

The  two  writers  of  whom  he  oftenest  spoke,  within  my 
hearing,  were  Lowell  and  Hawthorne.  Of  Lowell  he  said, 
"  He  is  one  of  the  manliest  and  noblest  men  that  ever 
lived."  "Hawthorne  often  came  into  this  room,"  he  said, 
"and  sometimes  he  would  go  there,  behind  the  window 
curtains,  and  remain  in  silent  revery  the  whole  evening. 
No  one  disturbed  him ;  he  came  and  went  as  he  liked. 
He  was  a  mysterious  man."  With  Irving's  works  he  was 
especially  familiar,  and  he  often  quoted  from  them  in  his 
talk  to  me.  One  summer  day  at  his  cottage  at  Nahant  I 
found  him  reading  Cooper's  sea-stories,  and  had  the  com 
fort  of  hearing  from  his  lips  a  tribute  to  that  great 
writer,  —  the  foremost  novelist  in  American  literature, 


314  REMINISCENCES. 

unmatched  since  Scott.  .  .  .  Longfellow  was  in  fine  spirits 
that  day,  and  very  happy ;  and  I  have  always  thought  of 
him  as  he  looked  then,  holding  his  daughter  Edith  in  his 
arms,  —  a  little  child,  with  long,  golden  hair,  and  lovely, 
merry  face,  —  and  by  his  mere  presence  making  the  sun 
shine  brighter  and  the  place  more  sacred  with  kindness 
and  peace. 

The  best  portrait  of  Longfellow  is  the  one  made  by 
Samuel  Lawrence ;  and  it  is  the  best  because  it  gives  the 
noble  and  spirited  poise  and  action  of  his  head,  shows  his 
clean-cut,  strong,  yet  delicate  features  unmasked  with  a 
beard,  and  preserves  that  alert,  inspired  expression  which 
came  into  his  face  when  he  was  affected  by  any  strong 
emotion.  I  recall  Mrs.  Longfellow's  commendation  of  it 
in  a  fireside  talk.  It  was  her  favorite  portrait  of  him. 
We  discussed  together  Thomas  Buchanan  Eead's  portrait 
of  him  and  of  his  three  daughters,  when  those  pictures 
were  yet  fresh  from  the  easel.  I  remember  speaking  to 
him  of  a  fancied  resemblance  between  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Longfellow  and  the  face  of  '  Evangeline '  in  Faed's  well- 
known  picture.  He  said  that  others  had  noticed  it,  but 
that  he  himself  did  not  perceive  it.  Yet  I  think  those 
faces  were  alike,  in  stateliness  and  in  the  mournful  beauty 
of  the  eyes.  It  is  strange  what  trifles  crowd  upon  the 
memory  when  one  thinks  of  the  long  ago  and  the  friends 
that  have  departed.  I  recollect  his  smile  when  he  said 
that  he  always  called  to  mind  the  number  of  the  house  in 
Beacon  Street,  Boston,  —  which  was  Mrs.  Longfellow's 
home  when  she  was  Miss  Appleton,  • —  "  by  thinking  of  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles."  I  recollect  the  gentle  gravity  of  his 
voice  when  he  showed  me  a  piece  of  the  coffin  of  Dante, 
and  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  That  has  touched  his  bones."  I 
recollect  the  benignant  look  in  his  eyes  and  the  warm 
pressure  of  his  hand  when  he  bade  me  good-by  (it  was 
the  last  time),  saying,  "  You  never  forget  me ;  you  always 


REMINISCENCES.  315 

come  to  see  me."  There  were  long  lapses  of  time  dur 
ing  which  I  never  saw  him,  being  held  fast  by  incessant 
duties,  and  driven  far  away  by  the  gales  of  life  from 
the  old  moorings  of  my  youth.  But  as  often  as  I  came 
back  to  his  door  his  love  met  me  on  the  threshold  and 
his  noble  serenity  gave  me  comfort  and  peace.  It  is  but 
a  little  while  ago  since,  in  quick  and  delicate  remembrance 
of  the  old  days,  he  led  me  to  his  hearthstone,  saying, 
"  Come  and  sit  in  the  Children's  Chair."  What  an  awful 
solemnity,  and  yet  what  a  soothing  sense  of  perfect  noble 
ness  and  beneficent  love,  must  hallow  now  that  storied 
home  from  which  his  earthly  and  visible  presence  has 
forever  departed ! 

Let  us  turn  to  his  own  words,  and  take  comfort  once 
more  from  that  loving  heart  which  was  always  so  ready 
to  give  it:  " Death  is  neither  an  end  nor  a  beginning. 
It  is  a  transition,  not  from  one  existence  to  another,  but 
from  one  state  of  existence  to  another.  No  link  is 
broken  in  the  chain  of  being,  any  more  than  in  passing 
from  infancy  to  manhood,  from  manhood  to  old  age.  .  .  . 
Death  brings  us  again  to  our  friends.  They  are  waiting 
for  us,  and  we  shall  not  long  delay.  They  have  gone 
before  us,  and  are  like  the  angels  in  heaven.  They  stand 
upon  the  borders  of  the  grave  to  welcome  us,  with  the 
countenance  of  affection  which  they  wore  on  earth,  —  yet 
more  lovely,  more  radiant,  more  spiritual." 

The  reminiscences  that  follow  are  from  the 
hand  of  an  intimate  friend  of  many  years,  Mrs. 
J.  T.  Fields.1 

There  was  always  a  striking  contrast  between  the  per 
fect  modesty  and  simplicity  of  Longfellow  and  the  blare  of 

1  Reprinted  from  The  Century,  April,  1886,  by  permission  of  the 
publishers. 


316  REMINISCENCES. 

popularity  which  beset  him.  Though  naturally  of  a  buoy 
ant  disposition  and  fond  of  pleasure,  he  lived  as  far  as  pos 
sible  from  the  public  eye,  especially  during  the  last  twenty 
years  of  his  life.  The  following  note  gives  a  hint  of  his 
natural  gayety,  and  details  one  of  the  many  excuses  by 
which  he  always  declined  to  speak  in  public,  —  the  one 
memorable  exception  being  that  beautiful  occasion  at 
Bowdoin  when  he  returned  in  age  to  the  scenes  of  his 
youth  and  read  to  the  crowd  assembled  there  to  do  him 
reverence  his  poem  entitled  '  Morituri  Salutamus.'  After 
speaking  of  the  reasons  which  must  keep  him  from  the 
Burns  festival  [in  1859],  he  adds  :  — 

"  I  am.  very  sorry  not  to  be  there.  You  will  have  a  delightful 
supper,  or  dinner,  whichever  it  is  ;  and  human  breath  enough  ex 
pended  to  fill  all  the  trumpets  of  Iskander  for  a  month  or  more. 

I  behold  as  in  a  vision  a  friend  of  ours,  with  his  left  hand  under 
the  tails  of  his  coat,  blowing  away  like  mad  ;  and,  alas  !  I  shall  not 
be  there  to  applaud.  All  this  you  must  do  for  me  ;  and  also  eat  my 
part  of  the  haggis  which  I  hear  is  to  grace  the  feast.  This  shall  be 
your  duty  arid  your  reward." 

The  reference  in  this  note  to  the  "  trumpets  of  Iskander  " 
is  the  only  one  in  his  letters  regarding  a  poem  which  was 
a  great  favorite  of  his,  by  Leigh  Hunt,  called  '  The  Trum 
pets  of  Doolkarnein.'  It  is  a  poem  worthy  to  make  the 
reputation  of  a  poet,  and  is  almost  a  surprise  even  among 
the  varied  riches  of  Leigh  Hunt.  Many  years  after  this 
note  was  written,  Longfellow  used  to  recall  it  to  those  lov 
ers  of  poetry  who  had  chanced  to  escape  a  knowledge  of 
its  beauty. 

In  spite  of  his  dislike  of  grand  occasions,  he  was  a  keen 
lover  of  the  opera  and  theatre.  He  was  always  the  first  to 
know  when  the  opera  season  was  to  begin,  and  to  plan  that 
we  might  have  a  box  together.  He  was  always  ready  to 
hear  Lucia  or  Don  Giovanni,  and  to  make  a  festival  time 
at  the  coming  of  Salvini  or  Neilson.  There  is  a  tiny  note- 


REMINISCENCES.  317 

let  among  his  letters,  with  a  newspaper  paragraph  neatly 
cut  out  and  pasted  across  the  top,  detailing  the  names 
of  his  party  at  a  previous  appearance  at  a  theatre,  —  a  kind 
of  notoriety  which  he  particularly  shuddered  at ;  but  in 
order  to  prove  his  determination,  in  spite  of  everything,  he 
writes  below :  — 

"  Now  for  '  Pinafore,'  and  another  paragraph  !  Saturday  after 
noon  would  be  a  good  time." 

He  easily  caught  the  gayety  of  such  occasions,  and  in 
the  shadow  of  the  box-curtains  would  join  in  the  singing 
or  the  recitative  of  the  lovely  Italian  words  with  a  true 
poet's  delight.  .  .  . 

Day  by  day  he  was  besieged  by  every  possible  form  of 
interruption  which  the  ingenuity  of  the  human  brain  could 
devise;  but  his  patience  and  kindness,  his  determination  to 
accept  the  homage  offered  him  in  the  spirit  of  the  giver, 
whatever  discomfort  it  might  bring  himself,  was  continu 
ally  surprising  to  those  who  watched  him  year  by  year. 
Mr.  Fields  wrote :  "In  his  modesty  and  benevolence  I  am 
reminded  of  what  Pope  said  of  his  friend  Garth :  '  He  is 
the  best  of  Christians,  without  knowing  it.' "... 

He  was  distinguished  by  one  grace  which  was  almost 
peculiar  to  himself  in  the  time  in  which  he  lived  —  his 
tenderness  toward  the  undeveloped  artist,  the  man  or  wo 
man,  youth  or  maid,  whose  heart  was  set  upon  some  form 
of  ideal  expression,  and  who  was  living  for  that.  Whether 
they  possessed  the  power  to  distinguish  themselves  or  not, 
to  such  persons  he  addressed  himself  with  a  sense  of  per 
sonal  regard  and  kinship.  When  fame  crowned  the  aspir 
ant,  no  one  recognized  more  keenly  the  perfection  of  the 
work  ;  but  he  seldom  turned  aside  to  attract  the  successful 
to  himself.  To  the  unsuccessful  he  lent  the  sunshine  and 
overflow  of  his  own  life,  as  if  he  tried  to  show  every  day 
afresh  that  he  believed  noble  pursuit,  and  not  attainment, 
to  be  the  purpose  of  our  existence.  .  .  . 


318  REMINISCENCES. 

His  kindness  and  love  of  humor  carried  him  through 
many  a  tedious  interruption.  He  generously  overlooked 
the  fact  of  the  subterfuges  to  which  men  and  women  re 
sorted  in  order  to  get  an  interview,  and  to  help  them  out 
made  as  much  of  their  excuses  as  possible.  Speaking  one 
day  of  the  people  who  came  to  see  him  at  Nahant,  he 
said :  "  One  man,  a  perfect  stranger,  came  with  an  omnibus 
full  of  ladies.  He  descended,  introduced  himself,  then  re 
turning  to  the  omnibus  took  out  all  the  ladies,  one,  two, 
three,  four,  and  five,  with  a  little  girl,  and  brought  them 
in.  I  entertained  them  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and 
they  stayed  an  hour.  They  had  scarcely  gone  when  a  for 
lorn  woman  in  black  came  up  to  me  on  the  piazza  and 
asked  for  a  '  dipper  of  water.'  '  Certainly,'  I  replied,  and 
went  to  fetch  her  a  glass.  When  I  brought  it  she  said, 
'  There  is  another  woman  just  by  the  fence  who  is  tired 
and  thirsty ;  I  will  carry  this  to  her.'  But  she  struck  her 
head  as  she  passed  through  the  window  and  spilled  the 
water  on  the  piazza.  '  Oh  !  what  have  I  done  ? '  she  said. 
'  If  I  had  a  floor-cloth,  I  would  wipe  it  up.'  '  Oh !  no  mat 
ter  about  the  water,'  I  said,  '  if  you  have  not  hurt  your 
self.'  Then  I  went  and  brought  more  water  for  them  both, 
and  sent  them  on  their  way,  at  last,  refreshed  and  rejoic 
ing."  Once  Longfellow  drew  out  of  his  pocket  a  queer 
request  for  an  autograph,  saying,  "  that  the  writer  loved 
poetry  in  'most  any  style,  and  would  he  please  copy  his 
'  Break,  break,  break ! '  for  the  writer  ? "  He  also  described 
in  a  note  a  little  encounter  in  the  street,  on  a  windy  day, 
with  an  elderly  French  gentleman  in  company  with  a 
young  lady,  who  introduced  them  to  each  other.  The 
Frenchman  said :  — 

"  '  Monsieur,  vous  avez  un  fils  qui  fait  de  la  peinture.' 
'Oui,  Monsieur.' 

'  II  a  du  merite.     II  a  beaucoup  d'avenir.' 
'  Ah  ! '  said  I,  '  c'est  une  belle  chose  que  1'avenir.' 


REMINISCENCES.  319 

The  elderly  French  gentleman  rolled  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes 
and  answered, — 

'  Oui,  c'est  une  belle  chose  ;  mais  vous  et  moi,  nous  n'en  avons  pas 
beaucoup  ! ' 

Superfluous  information  !  " 

It  would  be  both  an  endless  and  unprofitable  task  to 
recall  many  more  of  the  curious  experiences  which  Long 
fellow's  popularity  brought  down  upon  him.  There  is  a 
passage  among  Mr.  Fields's  notes,  however,  in  which  he 
describes  an  incident  during  Longfellow's  last  visit  to 
England  which  should  not  be  overlooked.  Upon  his 
arrival  the  Queen  sent  a  graceful  message  and  invited 
him  to  Windsor  Castle,  where  she  received  him  with  all 
cordiality ;  but  he  told  me  no  foreign  tribute  touched 
him  deeper  than  the  words  of  an  English  hod-carrier, 
who  came  up  to  the  carriage-door  at  Harrow  and  asked 
permission  to  take  the  hand  of  the  man  who  had  written 
the  Voices  of  the  Night. 

There  are  many  letters  belonging  to  the  phase  of  Long 
fellow's  life  dwelt  upon  in  this  sketch,  but  they  belong 
more  properly  to  his  biography.  There  is  a  brief  note, 
however,  written  in  1849,  which  gives  a  pleasant  idea  of 
the  close  relation  already  existing  between  him  and  his 
publisher.  He  writes  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  FIELDS,  —  I  am  extremely  glad  you  like  the  new  poems 
so  well.  What  think  you  of  the  inclosed,  instead  of  the  sad  ending  of 
'  The  Ship'  ?  Is  it  better  ? l  .  .  .  I  send  you  also  '  The  Lighthouse  ' 
once  more  ;  I  think  it  is  improved  by  your  suggestions.  See  if  you 
can  find  anything  more  to  re-touch.  And  finally,  here  is  a  letter  from 
Hirst.  You  see  what  he  wants  ;  but  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  giving 
my  '  Dedication '  to  the  '  Courier.'  Therefore  I  hereby  give  it  to  you, 
so  that  I  can  say  it  is  disposed  of. 

Am  I  right,  or  wrong  ? " 

1  The  original  ending  of  '  The  Building  of  the  Ship '  will  be  found 
on  page  437. 


320  REMINISCENCES. 

There  was  no  break  nor  any  change  in  this  friendship 
during  the  passing  of  the  years  ;  but  in  1861  there  is  a 
note  containing  only  a  few  words,  which  shows  that  a 
change  had  fallen  upon  Longfellow  himself,  —  a  shadow 
which  never  could  be  lifted  from  his  life.  He  writes  : 

"  MY  DEAR  FIELDS,  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  No  instead  of  Yes  ;  but 
so  it  must  be.  I  can  neither  write  nor  think  ;  and  I  have  nothing  fit 
to  send  you  but  my  love,  which  you  cannot  put  into  the  magazine." 

For  ever  after  the  death  of  his  wife  he  was  a  different 
man.  His  friends  suffered  for  him  and  with  him,  but  he 
walked  alone  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 
They  were  glad  when  he  turned  to  his  work  again,  and 
still  more  glad  when  he  showed  a  desire  for  their  interest 
in  what  he  was  doing. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  began  to  busy  himself  con 
tinuously  with  his  translation  of  the  Divina  Commedia, 
and  in  the  journal  of  1863  I  find  :  - 

"  August.  A  delightful  day  with  Longfellow  at  Nahant. 
He  read  aloud  the  last  part  of  his  new  volume  of  poems, 
in  which  each  one  of  a  party  of  friends  tells  a  story.  Ole 
Bull,  Parsons,  Monti,  and  several  other  characters  are 
introduced." 

"  September  1.  A  cold  storm  by  the  sea-shore ;  but  there 
was  great  pleasure  in  town  in  the  afternoon.  Longfellow, 
Paine,  Dwight,  and  Fields  went  to  hear  Walcker  play  the 
great  new  organ  in  the  Music  Hall  for  the  first  time  since 
its  erection.  Afterward  they  all  dined  together.  Long 
fellow  comes  in  from  Cambridge  every  day,  and  sometimes 
twice  a  day,  to  see  George  Sumner,  who  is  dying  at  the 
Massachusetts  General  Hospital." 

"  September  19.  Longfellow  and  his  friend  George 
W.  Greene,  Charles  Sumner,  and  Dempster,  the  singer, 
came  in  for  an  early  dinner.  A  very  cosey,  pleasant 
little  party.  The  afternoon  was  cool,  and  everybody  was 


REMINISCENCES.  321 

in  kindly  humor.  Sumner  shook  his  head  sadly  when 
the  subject  of  the  English  ironclads  was  mentioned.  The 
talk  prolonged  itself  upon  the  condition  of  the  country. 
Longfellow's  patriotism  flamed.  His  feeling  against  Eng 
land  runs  more  deeply  and  strongly  than  he  can  find  words 
to  express.  There  is  no  prejudice  nor  childish  partisan 
ship,  but  it  is  hatred  of  the  course  she  has  pursued  at  this 
critical  time.  Later,  in  speaking  of  poetry  and  some  of 
the  less-known  and  younger  poets,  Longfellow  recalled 
some  good  passages  in  the  poems  of  Bessie  Parkes  and 
Jean  Ingelow.  As  evening  approached  we  left  the  table 
and  came  to  the  library.  There  in  the  twilight  Dempster 
sat  at  the  piano  and  sang  to  us,  beginning  with  Longfel 
low's  poem  called  '  Children,'  which  he  gave  with  a  deli 
cacy  and  feeling  that  touched  every  one.  Afterward  he 
sang  the  '  Bugle  Song '  and  '  Turn,  Fortune,'  which  he  had, 
shortly  before  leaving  England,  sung  to  Tennyson ;  and 
then,  after  a  pause,  he  turned  once  more  to  the  instrument 
and  sang  '  Break,  break,  break  ! '  It  was  very  solemn,  and 
no  one  spoke  when  he  had  finished,  only  a  deep  sob  was 
heard  from  the  corner  where  Longfellow  sat  Again  and 
again,  each  time  more  uncontrolled,  we  heard  the  heart 
rending  sounds.  Presently  the  singer  gave  us  another  and 
less  touching  song,  and  before  he  ceased,  Longfellow  rose 
and  vanished  from  the  room  in  the  dim  light  without  a 
word." 

"  September  27.  Longfellow  and  Greene  came  to  town 
in  the  evening  for  a  walk  and  to  see  the  moonlight 
in  the  streets,  and  afterward  to  have  supper.  .  .  .  He 
was  very  sad,  and  seemed  to  have  grown  an  old  man  since 
a  week  ago.  He  was  silent  and  absent-minded.  On  his 
previous  visit  he  had  borrowed  Sidney's  'Arcadia'  and 
Christina  Eossetti's  poems,  but  he  had  read  neither  of  the 
books.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  his  grief,  as  if  it  were 
sometimes  more  than  he  could  endure." 

•21 


322  REMINISCENCES. 

"  Sunday,  October.  Took  five  little  children  to  drive  in 
tlie  afternoon,  and  stopped  at  Longfellow's.  It  was  de 
lightful  to  see  their  enjoyment  and  his.  He  took  them 
out  of  the  carriage  in  his  amis  and  was  touchingly  kind  to 
them.  His  love  for  children  is  not  confined  to  his  poetic 
expressions  or  to  his  own  family ;  he  is  uncommonly  ten 
der  and  beautiful  with  them  always." 

I  remember  there  was  one  little  boy  of  whom  he  was 
very  fond,  and  who  came  often  to  see  him.  One  day  the 
child  looked  earnestly  at  the  long  rows  of  books  in  the 
library,  and  at  length  said, — 

"  Have  you  got  Jack  the  Giant-Killer  ?  " 

Longfellow  was  obliged  to  confess  that  his  library  did 
not  contain  that  venerated  volume.  The  little  boy  looked 
very  sorry,  and  presently  slipped  down  from  his  knee  and 
went  away ;  but  early  the  next  morning  Longfellow  saw 
him  coming  up  the  walk  with  something  tightly  clasped 
in  his  little  fists.  The  child  had  brought  him  two  cents, 
with  which  he  was  to  buy  a  Jack  the  Giant-Killer  to  be 
his  own. 

He  did  not  escape  the  sad  experiences  of  the  War.  His 
eldest  son  was  severely  wounded,  and  he  also  went,  as  did 
Dr.  Holmes  and  other  less  famous  but  equally  anxious 
parents,  in  search  of  his  boy.  .  .  . 

In  the  year  1865  began  those  Wednesday  evenings  de 
voted  to  reading  the  new  translation  of  Dante.  They  were 
delightful  occasions.  Lowell,  Norton,  Greene,  Howells, 
and  such  other  Dante  scholars  or  intimate  friends  as  were 
accessible,  made  up  the  circle  of  kindly  critics.  Those 
evenings  increased  in  interest  as  the  work  went  on ;  and 
when  it  was  ended,  and  the  notes  were  written  and  read,  it 
was  proposed  to  re-read  the  whole  rather  than  to  give  up 
the  weekly  visit  to  Longfellow's  house.  In  1866  he  wrote 
to  Mr.  Fields  :  — 


REMINISCENCES.  323 

"  Greene  is  coming  expressly  to  hear  the  last  canto  of  Paradiso 
to-morrow  night,  and  will  stay  the  rest  of  the  week.  I  really  hoped 
you  would  be  here ;  but  as  you  say  nothing  about  it,  I  begin  to  trem 
ble.  Perhaps,  however,  you  are  only  making  believe,  and  will  take 
iis  by  surprise  ;  so  I  shall  keep  your  place  for  you. 

This  is  not  to  be  the  end  of  all  things.  I  mean  to  begin  again 
in  September  with  the  dubious  and  difficult  passages  ;  and  if  you 
are  not  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  publish,  there  is  still  a  long  vista 
of  pleasant  evenings  stretching  out  before  us.  We  can  pull  them 
out  like  a  spy-glass.  I  am  shutting  up  now,  to  recommence  the 
operation." 

In  December  of  the  same  year  he  wrote  :  — 

"  The  first  meeting  of  the  Dante  Club  Redivivus  is  on  "Wednesday 
next.  Come  and  be  bored.  Please  not  to  mention  the  subject  to  any 
one  yet  awhile,  as  we  are  going  to  be  very  quiet  about  it." 

"January,  1867.  Dante  Club  at  Longfellow's  again. 
They  are  revising  the  whole  book  with  the  minutest  care. 
Lowell's  accuracy  is  surprising,  and  of  great  value  to  the 
work ;  also  Norton's  criticisms.  Longfellow  sits  at  his 
desk,  taking  notes  and  making  corrections,  —  though  of 
course  no  one  can  know  yet  what  he  accepts."  .  .  . 

He  was  seldom  stimulated  to  external  expression  by 
others.  Such  excitement  as  he  could  express  again  was 
always  self-excitement;  anything  external  rendered  him 
at  once  a  listener  and  an  observer.  For  this  reason  it  is 
peculiarly  difficult  to  give  any  idea  of  his  lovely  presence 
and  character  to  those  who  have  not  known  him.  He  did 
not  speak  in  epigrams.  It  could  not  be  said  of  him : 

"  His  mouth  he  could  not  ope, 
But  out  there  flew  a  trope." 

Yet  there  was  an  exquisite  tenderness  and  effluence  from 
his  presence  which  was  more  humanizing  and  elevating 
than  the  eloquence  of  many  others. 

Speaking  one  day  of  his  own  reminiscences,  Longfellow 
said,  "  that  however  interesting  such  things  were  in  con- 


324  REMINISCENCES. 

versation,  he  thought  they  seldom  contained  legitimate 
matter  for  bookmaking ;  and  -  — 's  life  of  a  poet,  just 
then  printed,  was,  he  thought,  peculiarly  disagreeable, 
chiefly  because  of  the  unjustifiable  things  related  of  him 
by  others.  This  strain  of  thought  brought  to  his  mind  a 
call  he  made  [in  1842],  with  a  letter  of  introduction,  upon 
Jules  Janin.  The  servant  said  her  master  was  at  home, 
and  he  was  ushered  immediately  into  a  small  parlor,  in 
one  corner  of  which  was  a  winding  stairway  leading  into 
the  room  above.  Here  he  waited  a  moment  while  the 
maid  carried  in  his  card,  and  then  returned  immediately 
to  say  he  could  go  up.  In  the  upper  room  sat  Janin  under 
the  hands  of  a  barber,  his  abundant  locks  shaken  up  in 
wild  confusion,  in  spite  of  which  he  received  his  guest  quite 
undisturbed,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course.  There  was 
no  fire  in  the  room,  but  the  fire-place  was  heaped  with  let 
ters  and  envelopes,  and  a  trail  of  the  same  reached  from 
his  desk  to  the  grate.  After  a  brief  visit  Longfellow  was 
about  to  withdraw,  when  Janin  detained  him,  saying : 
'  What  can  I  do  for  you  in  Paris  ?  Whom  would  you 
like  to  see  ? ' 

'  I  should  like  to  know  Madame  George  Sand.' 

'  Unfortunately  that  is  impossible  !  I  have  just  quar 
relled  with  Madame  Sand  ! ' 

'  Ah !  then,  Alexandre  Dumas ;  I  should  like  to  take 
him  by  the  hand  ! ' 

'  I  have  quarrelled  with  him  also ;  but  no  matter  !  Tons 
perdriez  vos  illusions.' 

"  However,  he  invited  me  to  dine  the  next  day,  and  I 
had  a  singular  experience  ;  but  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the 
way  in  which  he  said,  '  Vous  perdriez  vos  illusions.' 

"  When  I  arrived  on  the  following  day  I  found  the  com 
pany  consisted  of  his  wife  and  himself,  a  little  red-haired 
man  who  was  rather  quiet  and  cynical,  and  myself.  Janin 
was  amusing  and  noisy,  and  carried  the  talk  on  swim- 


REMINISCENCES.  325 

mingly,  with  much  laughter.  Presently  he  began  to  say 
hard  things  about  women  ;  when  his  wife  looked  up  re 
proachfully,  and  said,  '  Deja,  Jules  ! '  During  dinner  a  dra 
matic  author  arrived  with  his  play,  and  Janin  ordered  him 
to  be  shown  in.  He  treated  the  poor  fellow  brutally,  who 
in  turn  bowed  low  to  the  great  power.  He  did  not  even  ask 
him  to  take  a  chair.  Madame  Janin  did  so,  however,  and 
kindly  too.  The  author  supplicated  the  critic  to  attend 
the  first  appearance  of  his  play.  Janin  would  not  promise 
to  go,  but  put  him  off  indefinitely ;  and  presently  the  poor 
man  went  away.  I  tingled  all  over  with  indignation  at 
the  treatment  the  man  received ;  but  Janin  looked  over 
to  his  wife,  saying,  '  Well,  my  dear,  I  treated  this  one 
pretty  well,  did  n't  I  ? ' 

'  Better  than  sometimes,  Jules,'  she  answered." 
Altogether  it  was  a   strange  scene   to   the  American 
observer. 

"July,  1867.  Passed  the  day  at  Nahant.  As  Long 
fellow  sat  on  the  piazza,  wrapped  in  his  blue  cloth  cloak, 
he  struck  me  for  the  first  time  as  wearing  a  venerable 
aspect.  Before  dinner  he  gathered  wild  roses  to  adorn  the 
table,  and  even  gave  a  careful  touch  himself  to  the  ar 
rangement  of  the  wines  and  fruits.  He  was  in  excellent 
spirits,  full  of  wit  and  lively  talk.  Speaking  of  the  use 
and  misuse  of  words,  he  quoted  Chateaubriand's  mistake 
(afterward  corrected)  in  his  translation  of  'Paradise  Lost,' 
where  he  rendered 

'  Siloa's  brook  that  flowed 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God,' 
as 

'  Le  ruisseau  de  Siloa  qui  coulait  rapidement.' " 

In  talking  about  natural  differences  in  character  and 
temperament,  he  said  of  his  own  children  that  he  agreed 
with  one  of  the  old  English  divines  who  said,  "  Happy  is 
that  household  wherein  Martha  still  reproves  Mary  ! " 


326  REMINISCENCES. 

In  February,  1868,  it  was  decided  that  Longfellow- 
should  go  to  Europe  with  his  family.  He  said  that  the 
first  time  he  went  abroad  it  was  to  see  places  alone,  and 
not  persons ;  the  second  time  he  saw  a  few  persons,  and  so 
pleasantly  combined  the  two ;  he  thought  once  that  on  a 
third  visit  he  should  prefer  to  see  people  only.  But  all 
that  was  changed  now.  He  had  returned  to  the  feeling 
of  his  youth.  He  was  eager  to  seek  out  quiet  places  and 
wayside  nooks  where  he  might  rest  in  retirement  and  en 
joy  the  beautiful  country  sights  of  Europe  undisturbed. 

The  following  year  found  him  again  in  Cambridge,  re 
freshed  by  his  absence.  The  diary  continues :  "  He  has 
been  trying  to  further  the  idea  of  buying  some  of  the  low 
lands  in  Cambridge  for  the  College.  If  this  can  be  done, 
it  will  save  much  future  annoyance  to  the  people  from 
wretched  hovels  and  bad  odors,  besides  holding  the  land  for 
a  beautiful  possession  forever.  He  has  given  a  good  deal 
of  money  himself.  This  might  be  called  '  his  latest  work.'  " 

"  January,  1870.  Longfellow  and  Bayard  Taylor  came 
to  dine.  Longfellow  talked  of  translators  and  translating. 
He  advanced  the  idea  that  the  English,  from  the  insularity 
of  their  character,  were  incapable  of  making  a  perfect 
translation.  Americans,  French,  and  Germans,  he  said, 
have  much  larger  adaptability  to  and  sympathy  in  the 
thought  of  others.  He  would  not  hear  Chapman's  Homer 
or  anything  else  quoted  on  the  other  side,  but  was  zealous 
in  enforcing  this  argument.  He  anticipates  much  from 
Taylor's  version  of  Faust.  All  this  was  strikingly  inter 
esting,  as  showing  how  his  imagination  wrought  with 
him,  because  he  was  arguing  from  his  own  theory  of  the 
capacity  of  the  races,  and  in  the  face  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  best  actual  translations  existing  to-day,  the  result  of 
the  scholarship  of  England.  .  .  . 

"  His  account  of  Sainte-Beuve  during  his  last  visit  to 
Europe  was  an  odd  little  drama.  He  had  grown  exces- 


REMINISCENCES.  327 

sively  fat,  and  could  scarcely  move.  He  did  not  attempt 
to  rise  from  his  chair  as  Longfellow  entered,  but  motioned 
him  to  a  seat  by  his  side.  Talking  of  Chateaubriand  and 
Lamartine,  '  Take  them  for  all  in  all,  which  do  you  pre 
fer  ? '  asked  Longfellow. 

"'Charlatan  pour  charlatan,  je  crois  que  je  pre'fere 
Monsieur  de  Lamartine/  was  the  reply. 

"  Longfellow  amused  me  by  making  two  epigrams : 

'  What  is  autobiography  ? 
It  is  what  a  biography  ought  to  be.' 

And  again :  — 

'  When  you  ask  one  friend  to  dine, 
Give  him  your  best  wine  ! 
When  you  ask  two, 
The  second  best  will  do  ! ' 

"He  brought  in  with  him  two  poems  translated  from 
Platen's  Night-Songs.  They  are  very  beautiful."  .  .  . 

When  Longfellow  talked  freely,  as  at  this  dinner,  it  was 
difficult  to  remember  that  he  was  not  really  a  talker. 
The  natural  reserve  of  his  nature  made  it  sometimes  im 
possible  for  him  to  express  himself  in  ordinary  inter 
course.  He  never  truly  made  a  confidant  of  anybody 
except  his  Muse.  .  .  . 

His  sympathetic  nature  was  ever  ready  to  share  and 
further  the  gayety  of  others.  He  wrote  one  evening : 

"  I  have  been  kept  at  home  by  a  little  dancing-party  to-night.  .  .  . 
I  write  this  arrayed  in  my  dress-coat,  with  a  rose  in  my  button-hole, 
—  a  circumstance,  I  think,  worth  mentioning.  It  reminds  me  of 
Buffon,  who  used  to  array  himself  in  his  full  dress  for  writing  Nat 
ural  History.  Why  should  we  not  always  do  it  when  we  write 
letters  1  We  should,  no  doubt,  be  more  courtly  and  polite,  and  per 
haps  say  handsome  things  to  each  other.  It  was  said  of  Villemain 
that  when  he  spoke  to  a  lady  he  seemed  to  be  presenting  her  a 
bouquet.  Allow  me  to  present  you  this  postscript  in  the  same  polite 
manner,  to  make  good  my  theory  of  the  rose  in  the  button-hole." 


328  REMINISCENCES. 

How  delightful  it  is  to  catch  the  exhilaration  of  the 
little  festival  in  this  way !  In  his  endeavor  to  further  the 
gayeties  of  his  children  he  had  received  again  a  reflected 
light  and  life  which  his  love  for  them  had  helped  to 
create. 

"December  14,  1870.  Taylor's  Faust  is  finished,  and 
Longfellow  is  coming  with  other  friends  to  dinner  to  cele 
brate  the  ending  of  the  work.  .  .  . 

"  A  statuette  of  Goethe  was  on  the  table.  Longfellow 
said  Goethe  never  liked  the  statue  of  himself  by  Rauch, 
from  which  this  copy  was  made.  He  preferred  above  all 
others  a  bust  of  himself  by  a  Swiss  sculptor,  a  copy  of 
which  Taylor  owns.  He  could  never  understand,  he  con 
tinued,  the  story  of  that  unpleasant  interview  between 
Napoleon  and  Goethe.  Eckermann  says  Goethe  liked  it ; 
but  Longfellow  thought  the  Emperor's  manner  of  address 
had  a  touch  of  insolence  in  it.  The  haunts  of  Goethe  in 
Weimar  were  pleasantly  recalled  by  both  Longfellow  and 
Taylor,  to  whom  they  were  familiar;  also  that  strange 
portrait  of  him,  taken  standing  at  a  window,  and  looking 
out  over  Rome,  in  which  nothing  but  his  back  can  be 
seen. 

"  I  find  it  impossible  to  recall  what  Longfellow  said, 
but  he  scintillated  all  the  evening.  It  was  an  occasion 
such  as  he  loved  best.  His  jcux  d' esprit  flew  rapidly  right 
and  left,  often  setting  the  table  in  a  roar  of  laughter,  —  a 
most  unusual  thing  with  him."  .  .  . 

"January,  1871.  Dined  at  Longfellow's,  and  after 
ward  went  upstairs  to  see  an  interesting  collection  of 
East  Indian  curiosities.  Passing  through  his  dressing- 
room,  I  was  struck  with  the  likeness  of  his  private  rooms 
to  those  of  a  German  student  or  professor,  —  a  Goethean 
aspect  of  simplicity  and  space  everywhere,  with  books  put 
up  in  the  nooks  and  corners  and  all  over  the  walls.  It  is 
surely  a  most  attractive  house  ! " 


REMINISCENCES.  329 

Again  I  find  a  record  of  a  dinner  at  Cambridge :  "  The 
day  was  spring-like,  and  the  air  full  of  the  odors  of  fresh 
blossoms.  As  we  came  down  over  the  picturesque  old 
staircase,  he  was  standing  with  a  group  of  gentlemen  near 
by,  and  I  heard  him  say  aloud  unconsciously,  in  a  way 
peculiar  to  himself,  '  Ah,  now  we  shall  see  the  ladies  come 
downstairs ! '  Nothing  escapes  his  keen  observation  —  as 
delicate  as  it  is  keen." 

And  in  the  same  vein  the  journal  rambles  on 
"Friday.  Longfellow  came  in  to  luncheon  at  one 
o'clock.  He  was  looking  very  well ;  ...  his  beautiful 
eyes  fairly  shone.  He  had  been  at  Manchester-by-the-Sea 
the  day  before  to  dine  with  the  Curtises.  Their  truly 
romantic  and  lovely  place  had  left  a  pleasant  picture  in 
his  mind.  Coming  away  by  the  train,  he  passed  in  Chel 
sea  a  new  soldiers'  monument,  which  suggested  an  epigram 
to  him  that  he  said,  laughingly,  would  suit  any  of  the 
thousand  of  such  monuments  to  be  seen  aboujb  the  coun 
try.  He  began  somewhat  in  this  style :  — 

'  The  soldier  asked  for  bread  ; 
But  they  waited  till  he  was  dead, 
And  gave  him  a  stone  instead, 
Sixty  and  one  feet  high ! ' 

"W.e  all  returned  to  Cambridge  together,  and  being 
early  for  our  own  appointment  elsewhere,  he  carried  us 
into  his  library  and  read  aloud  '  The  Marriage  of  Lady 
Wentworth.'  E.,  with  pretty  girlish  ways,  and  eyes  like 
his  own,  had  let  us  into  the  old  mansion  by  the  side-door, 
and  then  lingered  to  ask  if  she  might  be  allowed  to  stay 
and  hear  the  reading  too.  He,  consenting,  laughingly 
lighted  a  cigar  and  soon  began.  His  voice  in  reading  was 
sweet  and  melodious,  and  it  was  touched  with  tremulous- 
ness  ;  although  this  was  an  easier  poem  to  read  aloud  than 
many  others,  being  strictly  narrative.  It  is  full  of  New 
England  life,  and  a  beautiful  addition  to  his  works.  He 


330  REMINISCENCES. 

has  a  fancy  for  making  a  volume,  or  getting  some  one  else 
to  do  it,  of  his  favorite  ghost-stories,  —  the  Flying  Dutch 
man,  Peter  Rugg,  and  a  few  others." 

On  another  occasion  the  record  says :  — 

"  Passed  the  evening  at  Longfellow's.  As  we  lifted  the 
latch  and  entered  the  hall-door,  we  saw  him  reading  an 
old  book  by  his  study -lamp.  It  was  the  Chansons  d'JZs- 
pagne,  which  he  had  just  purchased  at  what  he  called  the 
'  massacre  of  the  poets ; '  in  other  words,  at  the  sale  that 
day  of  the  library  of  William  H.  Prescott.  He  was  rather 
melancholy,  he  said,  —  first,  on  account  of  the  sacrifice  and 
separation  of  that  fine  library ;  also  because  he  is  doubtful 
about  his  new  poem,  the  one  on  the  life  of  our  Saviour. 
He  says  he  has  never  before  felt  so  cast-down. 

"What  an  orderly  man  he  is  ! — 'well-ordered/  I  should 
have  written.  Diary,  accounts,  scraps,  books,  —  every 
thing  where  he  can  put  his  hand  upon  it  in  a  moment." 

"December,  1871.  Saturday  Mr.  Longfellow  came  in 
town  and  went  with  us  to  hear  twelve  hundred  school 
children  sing  a  welcome  to  the  Russian  Grand  Duke  in 
the  Music  Hall.  It  was  a  fine  sight,  and  Dr.  Holmes's 
hymn,  written  for  the  occasion,  was  noble  and  inspiring. 
Just  before  the  Grand  Duke  came  in  I  saw  a  smile  creep 
over  Longfellow's  face.  '  I  can  never  get  over  the  ludi- 
crousness  of  it,'  he  said.  'All  this  array  and  fuss  over 
one  man ! '  He  came  home  with  us  afterward,  and  lin 
gered  awhile  by  the  fire.  He  talked  of  Russian  literature, 
—  its  modernness,  —  and  said  he  had  sent  us  a  delightful 
novel  by  Tourge'nief,  Liza,  in  which  we  should  find 
charming  and  vivid  glimpses  of  landscape  and  life  like 
those  seen  from  a  carriage-window.  We  left  him  alone 
in  the  library  for  a  while,  and  returning,  found  him  amus 
ing  himself  over  the  Ingoldsby  Legends.  He  was  reading 
the  'Coronation  of  Victoria,'  and  laughing  over  Count 
Frogarioff,  who  'could  not  get  prog  enough,'  and  was 


REMINISCENCES.  331 

found  eating  underneath,  the  stairs.  He  wants  to  have 
a  dinner  for  Bayard  Taylor,  whose  coming  is  always  the 
signal  for  a  series  of  small  festivities.  His  own  Divine 
Tragedy  is  just  out,  and  everybody  speaks  of  its  simplicity 
and  beauty." 

"  April.  In  the  evening  Longfellow  came  into  town 
for  the  purpose  of  hearing  a  German  gentleman  read  an 
original  poem,  and  he  persuaded  me  to  go  with  him.  The 
reader  twisted  his  face  up  into  frightful  knots,  and  de 
livered  his  poem  with  vast  apparent  satisfaction  to  him 
self,  if  not  to  his  audience.  It  was  fortunate,  on  the  whole, 
that  the  production  was  in  a  foreign  tongue,  because  it 
gave  us  the  occupation  at  least  of  trying  to  understand 
the  words,  —  the  poem  itself  possessing  not  the  remotest 
interest  for  either  of  us.  It  was  in  the  old  sentimental 
German  style  familiar  to  the  readers  of  that  literature. 
Longfellow  amused  me  as  we  walked  home  by  imitating 
the  sing-song  voice  we  had  been  following  all  the  evening. 
He  also  recited  in  the  original  that  beautiful  little  poem 
by  Platen,  In  der  Nacht,  in  der  Nacht,  in  a  most  delightful 
manner.  '  Ah  ! '  he  said,  '  to  translate  a  poem  properly  it 
must  be  done  into  the  metre  of  the  original ;  and  Bryant's 
Homer,  fine  as  it  is,  has  this  fault,  —  that  it  does  not  give 
the  music  of  the  poem  itself.'  He  came  in  and  took  a 
cigar  before  walking  home  over  the  bridge  alone.  .  .  . 

"  Emerson  asked  Longfellow  at  dinner  about  his  last 
visit  to  England,  of  Ruskin  and  other  celebrities.  Long 
fellow  is  always  reticent  upon  such  subjects ;  but  he  was 
eager  to  tell  us  how  very  much  he  had  enjoyed  Mr.  Bus 
kin.  He  said  it  was  one  of  the  most  surprising  things  in 
the  world  to  see  the  quiet,  gentlemanly  way  in  which 
Buskin  gave  vent  to  his  extreme  opinions.  It  seems  to 
be  no  effort  to  him,  but  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course 
that  every  one  should  give  expression  to  the  faith  that  is 
in  him  in  the  same  unvarnished  way  as  he  does  himself, 


332  REMINISCENCES. 

not  looking  for  agreement,  but  for  conversation  and  dis 
cussion.  '  It  is  strange,'  Ruskin  said,  '  being  considered  so 
much  out  of  harmony  with  America  as  I  am,  that  the  two 
Americans  I  have  known  and  loved  best,  you  and  Nor 
ton,  should  give  me  such  a  feeling  of  friendship  and 
repose.'"1  .  .  . 

"Longfellow  came  in  to  an  early  dinner  to  meet  Mr. 
Joseph  Jefferson,  Mr.  William  Warren,  and  Dr.  Holmes. 
He  said  he  felt  like  one  on  a  journey.  He  had  left  home 
early  in  the  morning,  had  been  sight-seeing  in  Boston  all 
day,  was  to  dine  and  go  to  the  theatre  with  us  afterward. 
The  talk  naturally  turned  upon  the  stage.  Longfellow 
said  he  thought  Mr.  Charles  Mathews  was  entirely  unjust 
in  his  criticisms  upon  Mr.  Forrest's  King  Lear.  He  con 
sidered  Mr.  Forrest's  rendering  of  the  part  as  very  fine, 
and  close  to  nature.  He  could  not  understand  why  Mr. 
Mathews  should  underrate  it  as  he  did.  Longfellow 
showed  us  a  book  given  him  by  Charles  Sumner.  In  it 
was  an  old  engraving  (from  a  painting  by  Giulio  Clovio) 
of  the  moon,  in  which  Dante  is  walking  with  his  com 
panion.  He  said  it  was  a  most  impressive  picture  to  him. 
He  knew  it  in  the  original ;  also  there  is  a  very  good  copy 
in  the  Cambridge  Library  among  the  copies  of  illuminated 
manuscripts." 

There  is  a  little  note,  belonging  to  this  period,  full  of 
poetic  feeling,  and  giving  more  than  a  hint  at  the  weari- 
fulness  of  interrupting  visitors  :  — 

"  I  send  you  the  pleasant  volume  I  promised  you  yesterday.  It 
is  a  book  for  summer  moods  by  the  seaside,  but  will  not  be  out  of 
place  on  a  winter  night  by  the  fireside.  .  .  .  You  will  find  an  allu- 

1  Mr.  Ruskin  had  written  to  Mr.  Longfellow  :  "  I  had  many  things 
to  say  about  the  sense  I  have  of  the  good  you  might  do  this  old 
world  by  staying  with  us  a  little,  and  giving  the  peaceful  glow  of  your 
fancy  to  our  cold,  troubled,  unpeaceful  spirit.  Strange,  that  both  you 
and  Norton  come  as  such  calm  influences  to  me  and  others." 


REMINISCENCES.  333 

sion  to  the  'blue  borage  flowers'  that  flavor  the  claret-cup.  I  know 
where  grows  another  kind  of  bore-age  that  embitters  the  goblet  of 
life.  I  can  spare  you  some  of  this  herb,  if  you  have  room  for  it  in 
your  garden  or  your  garret.  It  is  warranted  to  destroy  all  peace  of 
mind,  and  finally  to  produce  softening  of  the  brain  and  insanity. 

'  Better  juice  of  vine 
Than  berry  wine  ! 
Fire  !  fire  !  steel,  oh,  steel  ! 
Fire  !  fire  !  steel  and  fire  ! '  " 

The  following,  written  in  the  spring  of  the  same  year, 
gives  a  hint  of  what  a  festival  season  it  was  to  him  while 
the  lilacs  which  surround  his  house  were  in  bloom :  — 

"Here  is  the  poem,  copied  for  you  by  your  humble  scribe.  I 
found  it  impossible  to  crowd  it  into  a  page  of  note-paper.  •  Come  any 
pleasant  morning,  as  soon  after  breakfast,  or  before,  as  you  like,  and 
we  will  go  on  with  the  'Michael  Angelical'  manuscript.  I  shall  not 
be  likely  to  go  to  town  while  the  lilacs  are  in  bloom." 

The  rambling  diary  continues  :  "  To-day  Longfellow  sent 
us  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  wine,  and  after  them  came  a 
note  saying  he  had  sent  them  off  without  finding  time  to 
label  them.  '  They  are  wine  of  Avignon,'  he  added,  '  and 
should  bear  this  inscription,  from  Kedi :  — 

'  Benedetto 
Quel  Claretto 
Che  si  spilla  in  Avignone.' " 

About  this  period  Longfellow  invited  an  old  friend,  who 
had  fallen  into  extreme  helplessness  from  ill  health,  to 
come  and  make  him  a  visit.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  his 
friend,  a  scholar  like  himself,  "to  nurse  the  dwindling 
faculty  of  joy"  in  such  companionship,  and  he  lingered 
many  weeks  in  the  sunshine  of  the  old  house.  Long 
fellow's  patience  and  devoted  care  for  this  friend  of  his 
youth  was  a  signal  example  of  what  a  true  and  constant 
heart  may  do  unconsciously,  in  giving  expression  and 
recognition  to  the  bond  of  a  sincere  friendship.  Long 
after  his  friend  was  unable  to  rise  from  his  chair  without 


334  REMINISCENCES. 

assistance,  or  go  unaccompanied  to  his  bedroom,  Long 
fellow  followed  the  lightest  unexpressed  wish  with  his 
sympathetic  vision,  and  performed  the  smallest  offices  for 
him.  "  Longfellow,  will  you  turn  down  iny  coat-collar  ? '' 
I  have  heard  him  say  in  a  plaintive  way;  and  it  was  a 
beautiful  lesson  to  see  the  quick  and  cheerful  response 
which  would  follow  many  a  like  suggestion. 

In  referring  to  this  trait  of  his  character,  I  find  among 
the  notes  made  by  Mr.  Fields  on  Longfellow :  "  One  of 
the  most  occupied  of  all  our  literary  men  and  scholars,  he 
yet  finds  time  for  the  small  courtesies  of  existence,  —  those 
minor  attentions  that  are  so  often  neglected.  One  day, 
seeing  him  employed  in  cutting  something  from  a  news 
paper,  I  asked  him  what  he  was  about.  '  Oh,'  said  he, 
'  here  is  a  little  paragraph  speaking  kindly  of  our  poor  old 
friend  Blank.  You  know  he  seldom  gets  a  word  of  praise, 
poor  fellow,  nowadays ;  and  thinking  he  might  riot  chance 
to  see  this  paper,  I  am  snipping  out  the  paragraph  to  mail 
to  him  this  afternoon.  I  know  that  even  these  few  lines 
of  recognition  will  make  him  happy  for  hours,  and  I  could 
not  bear  to  think  he  might  perhaps  miss  seeing  these 
pleasant  words  so  kindly  expressed.'" 

"  May  Day,  1876.  Longfellow  dined  with  us.  He  said 
during  the  dinner,  when  we  heard  a  blast  of  wintry  wind 
howling  outside,  '  This  is  May  Day  enough ;  it  does  not 
matter  to  us  how  cold  it  is  outside.'  He  was  inclined  to 
be  silent,  for  there  were  other  and  brilliant  talkers  at  the 
table,  one  of  whom  said  to  him  in  a  pause  of  the  conver 
sation,  '  Longfellow,  tell  us  about  yourself ;  you  never  talk 
about  yourself.'  '  No,'  said  Longfellow  gently,  '  I  believe 
I  never  do.'  'And  yet,'  continued  the  first  speaker 
eagerly, '  you  confessed  to  me  once  —  '  No,'  said  Long 
fellow,  laughing,  '  I  think  I  never  did.'  " 

And  here  is  a  tiny  note  of  compliment,  graceful  as  a 
poet's  note  should  be:  — 


REMINISCENCES.  335 

"I  have  just  received  your  charming  gift,  —  your  note  and  the 
stately  lilies  ;  but  fear  you  may  have  gone  from  home  before  my 
thanks  can  reach  you. 

How  beautiful  they  are,  these  lilies  of  the  field ;  and  how  like 
American  women  !  Not  because  '  they  neither  toil  nor  spin,'  but 
because  they  are  elegant  and  '  born  in  the  purple.' " 

There  is  a  brief  record  in  1879  of  a  visit  to  us  in  Man- 
chester-by-the-Sea.  Just  before  he  left  he  said,  "After 
I  am  gone  to-day,  I  want  you  to  read  Schiller's  poem  of 
the  '  Ring  of  Polycrates/  if  you  do  not  recall  it  too  dis 
tinctly.  You  will  know  then  how  I  feel  about  my  visit." 
He  repeated  also  some  English  hexameters  he  had  essayed 
from  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad.  He  believes  the  work 
may  be  still  more  perfectly  done  than  has  ever  yet  been 
achieved.  We  drove  to  Gloucester  wrapped  in  a  warm 
sea-fog.  His  enjoyment  of  the  green  woods  and  the  sea- 
breeze  was  delightful  to  watch.  "  Ay  me  !  ay  me !  woods 
may  decay,"  but  who  can  dare  believe  such  life  shall  cease 
from  the  fair  world  ! 

Seeing  the  Portland  steamer  pass  one  night,  a  speck  on 
the  horizon,  bearing,  as  he  knew,  his  daughter  and  her 
husband,  he  watched  it  long ;  then  said :  "  Think  of  a  part 
of  yourself  being  on  that  moving  speck ! "  .  .  . 

Already  in  1875  we  find  Longfellow  at  work  upon  his 
latest  collection  of  poems,  which  he  called  Poems  of 
Places.  It  was  a  much  more  laborious  and  unreward 
ing  occupation  than  he  had  intended,  and  he  was  some 
times  weary  of  his  self-imposed  task.  He  wrote  at  this 
period :  — 

No  politician  ever  sought  for  Places  with  half  the  zeal  that  I  do. 
Friend  and  foe  alike  have  to  give  Place  to, 

Yours  truly, 

H.  W.  L. 


336  REMINISCENCES. 

Again  he  says  :  — 

"  What  evil  demon  moved  me  to  make  this  collection  of  Poems  of 
Places  ?  Could  I  have  foreseen  the  time  it  would  take,  and  the  worry 
and  annoyance  it  would  bring  with  it,  I  never  would  have  undertaken 
it.  The  worst  of  it  is,  I  have  to  write  pieces  now  and  then  to  fill  up 

gaps." 

More  and  more  his  old  friends  grew  dear  to  him  as  the 
years  passed  and  "  the  goddess  Neuralgia,"  as  he  called  his 
malady,  kept  him  chiefly  at  home.  .  .  . 

And  here  the  extracts  from  letters  and  journals  must 
cease.  It  was  a  golden  sunset,  in  spite  of  the  increasing 
infirmities  which  beset  him ;  for  he  could  never  lose  his 
pleasure  in  making  others  happy,  and  only  during  the  few 
last  days  did  he  lose  his  own  happiness  among  his  books 
and  at  his  desk.  The  influence  his  presence  gave  out  to 
others,  of  calm  good  cheer  and  tenderness,  made  those  who 
knew  him  feel  that  he  possessed,  in  larger  measure  than 
others,  what  Jean  Paul  Eichter  calls  "  a  heavenly  un- 
fathomableness  which  makes  man  godlike,  and  love  toward 
him  infinite."  Indeed  this  "  heavenly  unfathomableness  " 
was  a  strong  characteristic  of  his  nature,  and  the  gracious 
silence  in  which  he  often  dwelt  gave  a  rare  sense  of  song 
without  words.  Therefore,  perhaps  on  that  day  when  we 
gathered  around  the  form  through  which  his  voice  was 
never  again  to  utter  itself,  and  heard  his  own  words  upon 
the  air,  saying :  "  Weep  not,  my  friends  !  rather  rejoice  with 
me  ;  I  shall  not  feel  the  pain,  but  shall  be  gone,  and  you 
will  have  another  friend  in  heaven,"  —  it  was  impossible  not 
to  believe  that  he  was  with  us  still,  the  central  spirit,  com 
forting  and  uplifting  the  circle  of  those  who  were  most 
dear  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

IN  the  Life  is  given  an  account  of  the  Dante  Club 
by  Mr.  C.  E.  Norton.  The  following  sketch  of  a 
single  evening,  in  the  winter  of  1867,  will  interest 
the  reader  : 1  — 

The  final  revision  of  the  proof-sheets  was  then  going 
on,  and  the  Wednesday  evenings  were  devoted  to  the  last 
"  cabinet  councils  "  on  them  before  they  were  dismissed  for 
publication.  To  my  delight,  the  next  day  brought  me  a 
pleasant  invitation  from  Longfellow  to  accompany  Pro 
fessor  Lowell  to  the  Dante  gathering  that  evening,  and  to 
attend  these  meetings  as  long  as  I  remained  at  Cambridge. 
It  was  of  course  accepted ;  and  in  the  evening  we  walked 
through  the  snow  to  the  well-known  Longfellow  home, 
and  were  met  at  the  door  by  the  poet  himself,  who  had 
from  the  window  seen  us  approaching.  It  is  hardly  neces 
sary  to  repeat  the  description  of  Longfellow's  appearance, 
and  his  kindly  courtesy  of  manner,  which  has  become 
familiar  to  every  one.  He  was  then  approaching  his  six 
tieth  birthday ;  but  his  white  hair  and  beard  gave  him  a 
patriarchal  appearance  more  in  keeping  with  twenty  years' 
greater  age.  That  was,  however,  the  only  sign  of  ad 
vanced  years.  His  complexion  was  fresh,  his  eyes  softly 

1  This  sketch,  by  Mr.  J.  H.  A.  Bone,  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  is  copied 
from  the  Life  by  Mr.  Austin. 

22 


338  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

bright,  and  his  manner  so  courteous  and  winning  that  the 
question  of  real  or  apparent  age  was  at  once  forgotten. 
The  visitor  felt  himself  at  ease  immediately,  as  if  he  had 
always  belonged  to  the  inner  circle  of  the  poet's  friends  ; 
and  the  secret  of  the  strong  affection  felt  toward  Long 
fellow  by  his  literary  neighbors  —  and  some  might  think 
rivals  —  was  explained. 

After  a  few  minutes'  pleasant  conversation  in  the  poet's 
well-appointed  study,  James  T.  Fields,  the  poet's  pub 
lisher,  who  was  also  a  poet-publisher,  walked  briskly 
up  the  snowy  path  from  the  old-fashioned  gateway,  and 
was  warmly  greeted.  William  D.  Howells,  then  assist 
ant-editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  a  great  favorite 
with  both  the  older  Cambridge  poets,  quickly  followed. 
There  was  a  lively  conversation  for  a  short  time,  a  remark 
concerning  the  unusual  absence  of  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  — 
"  snowed  in,"  some  one  suggested,  —  and  then  Longfellow, 
glancing  at  the  clock,  said,  "  School-time  ! "  To  each  of  the 
visitors  was  handed  a  copy  of  Dante  in  the  original,  with 
which  to  follow  the  translation  as  read  from  the  printed 
sheets.  I  pleaded  my  insufficient  acquaintance  with  the 
Italian ;  but  the  "  schoolmaster  "  would  not  let  me  off  thus. 
"  All  scholars  must  work,"  said  Longfellow ;  and  he  handed 
me  a  volume  containing  a  prose  literal  translation,  with 
the  injunction  that  any  marked  difference  in  the  render 
ing  of  a  word  or  construing  the  sense  of  a  passage  must 
be  noted,  if  a  doubt  as  to  its  propriety  arose.  Then  all 
settled  down  to  close  study. 

As  a  preliminary,  Longfellow  took  from  a  drawer  the 
sheets  which  had  been  passed  upon  at  the  previous  meet 
ing,  and  on  which  he  had  noted  the  suggestions,  objections, 
and  doubts  of  the  "  scholars  "  made  at  that  time.  These 
had  all  been  carefully  considered,  some  amendments  ac 
cepted,  others  rejected,  and  the  doubtful  passages  thor 
oughly  examined.  Where  the  translator  still  preferred  his 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  339 

own  rendering  to  that  suggested  by  his  critics,  he  gave 
his  reasons.  This  done,  the  sheets  were  replaced,  the  new 
set  taken  up,  and  the  poet  began  reading  the  lines  slowly, 
and  at  the  same  time  watchful  of  any  indication  of  dissent 
or  doubt  on  the  part  of  his  hearers. 

The  reading  commenced  with  Canto  XIII.  of  the  In 
ferno,  where  Dante  and  his  guide  enter  the  marvellous 
wood  :  — 

"  Not  foliage  green,  but  of  a  dusky  color, 

Not  branches  smooth,  but  gnarled  and  intertangled, 
Not  apple-trees  were  there,  but  thorns  with  poison." 

The  reading  continued  without  interruption  until  the 
thirtieth  line  was  reached :  — 

"  Therefore  the  Master  said,  '  If  thou  break  off 
Some  little  spray  from  any  of  those  trees, 
The  thoughts  thou  hast  will  wholly  be  made  vain.'  " 

Longfellow  appeared  to  be  not  quite  satisfied  with  his 
rendering,  and  invited  suggestions  of  improvement ;  but 
these  were  hesitatingly  given.  All  the  suggested  emenda 
tions  were  noted  for  after-consideration,  and  the  reading 
continued.  Sometimes  one  of  the  listeners  checked  the 
reader  to  interpose  a  question  or  a  doubt ;  at  other  times 
the  poet  himself  stopped  to  explain  the  reason  for  his 
selection  of  a  word.  In  either  case  discussion  generally 
followed,  authorities  were  examined  and  cited ;  and  after 
all  the  information  obtainable  had  been  brought  out  and 
the  net  result  noted  on  the  margin  of  the  proof,  the  read 
ing  was  resumed. 

One  stop  was  at  the  incident  of  the  shades  of  the 
unfortunate  Lano  of  Siena  and  Jacopo  of  Sant'  Andrea 
rushing  through  the  ghastly  wood,  chased  by  "  black  she- 
mastiffs,  ravenous,  and  swift  of  foot  as  greyhounds  who 
are  issuing  from  the  chain ; "  the  ghosts  — 


340  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

"  Naked  and  scratched,  fleeing  so  furiously 

That  of  the  forest  every  fan  they  broke. 
He  who  was  in  the  advance,  '  Now  help,  Death,  help  ! '  " 

A  question  was  raised  as  to  the  exact  meaning  in  that 
connection  of  accorri.  Dante  says  the  foremost  of  the 
fleeing  shapes  cried,  "  Ora  accorri,  accorri,  morte.  "  Gary, 
with  some  other  translators,  renders  the  word  in  its  sense 
of  haste :  — 

"  '  Haste  now/  the  foremost  cried,  '  now  haste  thee,  Death ! '  " 

After  some  discussion  Longfellow's  choice  of  meaning 
was  approved,  and  the  line  retained  without  change.  The 
fourteenth  canto  was  read  with  fewer  interruptions.  One 
of  these  was  at  the  passage  describing  the  rain  of  fire 
upon  the  naked  spirits  stretched  or  crouched  upon  the 
burning  sand :  — 

"  Thus  was  descending  the  eternal  heat, 

Whereby  the  sand  was  set  on  fire,  like  tinder 
Beneath  the  steel,  for  doubling  of  the  dole." 

One  of  the  listeners  looked  up  quickly,  as  if  to  offer  a 
remark ;  but  immediately  returned  to  the  open  book. 
Longfellow  noticed  the  movement,  and  interpreted  its 
meaning.  " I  prefer  '  dole '  to  '  suffering,'  '  sorrow,'  or  'sad 
ness,'"  he  said,  "because  it  is  more  poetic  in  this  place, 
as  well  as  better  expressing  the  exact  shade  of  meaning. 
A  poet's  license  might  well  be  pleaded  for  such  a  word," 
he  added  with  a  smile,  "  although  our  friends  the  diction 
ary-makers  mark  it  as  obsolete.  " 

"  Tennyson  uses  the  word,"  I  ventured  to  remark. 

"Tennyson  restores  to  literature  many  words  that  are 
under  the  ban  of  the  dictionary-makers  as  obsolete,"  said 
Fields  ;  "  and  the  use  to  which  he  puts  them  justifies  the 
act."  . 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  341 

" '  Dole,'  in  the  sense  of  pain,  mental  suffering,  sadness, 
or  sorrow,"  remarked  Lowell,  "  was  a  frequently  used  and 
expressive  word  in  the  hands  of  Chaucer  and  Spenser  and 
their  contemporaries,  and  did  not  disappear  until  after 
Shakespeare's  time.  The  dramatist  Ford  used  '  dolent,' 
in  the  sense  of  sad  and  sorrowful,  in  his  play  of  Perkin 
Warbeck,  where  the  '  passionate  duke,'  after  a  mishap,  is 
spoken  of  as  '  effeminately  dolent.'  " 

At  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  canto  Longfellow  dropped 
the  last  sheet  into  an  open  drawer,  and  rising,  with  a 
light  laugh  said,  "Now,  gentlemen,  school  is  over,  and 
we  will  have  some  refreshment  after  our  labors."  The 
books  were  closed,  and  the  "scholars"  adjourned  to  the 
dining-room,  where  a  supper,  charmingly  served,  was  in 
waiting.  One  or  two  other  guests  joined  the  circle ; 
and  for  about  an  hour  there  was  a  lively  interchange 
of  pleasant  chat,  piquant  remarks,  and  gossipy  anecdotes. 
The  host  of  the  evening  was  not  talkative,  but  was  atten 
tive  to  every  one,  and  had  the  tact  to  keep  the  conver 
sation  lively  and  general.  Mr.  Fields  had  brought  some 
interesting  bits  of  publishers'  gossip  out  from  Boston  with 
him,  which  afforded  material  for  comment  and  pleasant 
raillery.  .  .  . 

Before  the  repast  was  ended,  one  of  Longfellow's  sons 
came  in,  —  a  slim  young  fellow,  full  of  boyish  vivacity  and 
ready  talk.  It  was  pleasant  to  note  the  attention  paid  by 
the  father  to  his  account  of  what  he  had  been  doing  and 
how  he  had  enjoyed  himself  during  the  visit  from  which 
he  had  just  returned,  and  the  interest  manifested  by  ques 
tions  he  put  to  draw  the  young  man  out. 

All  pleasures  come  to  an  end  at  some  time.  The 
guests  rose,  prepared  themselves  for  the  wintry  night  air ; 
and  after  a  warm  hand-clasp,  and  cordial  invitation  to 
repeat  the  evening's  experience,  each  took  his  homeward 
way.  .  .  . 


342  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

Three  or  four  months  later,  the  first  volume  of  'The 
Divine  Comedy,'  containing  the  Inferno,  was  published, 
and  I  prepared  a  review  of  it.  A  marked  copy  was  sent 
to  the  publishers,  as  customary.  Very  soon  after,  I  was 
both  surprised  and  gratified  by  the  receipt  of  the  following 
letter :  — 

CAMBRIDGE,  May  14,  1867. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  the 
Cleveland  Herald  containing  your  most  friendly  and  sympathetic 
notice  of  my  translation  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  and  I  hasten  to  thank 
you  for  your  great  kindness. 

The  notice  is  excellent,  bringing  forward  just  the  points  I 
should  wish  to  have  touched  upon.  It  is  positive  and  not  negative  ; 
and  will  not  fail  to  do  the  work  much  good. 

It  is  difficult  to  thank  one  for  praise  ;  so  let  me  thank  you 
rather  for  telling  your  readers  what  I  have  tried  to  do,  and  how  far, 
in  your  opinion,  I  have  succeeded. 

Our  pleasant  Wednesday  evenings  are  now  ended,  for  the  pres 
ent  at  least ;  but  I  hope  in  the  autumn,  on  some  pretext  or  other, 
we  shall  begin  again ;  and  that  we  may  once  more  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  among  us. 

Lowell  is  well ;  and  we  are  urging  him  to  take  up  the  Canzoni, 
which  I  really  hope  he  will  do. 


In  1882  a  lady  wrote  to  Mr.  Longfellow,  sending  him  a 
sketch  which  Thackeray  had  drawn  one  morning  in  1856 
in  her  father's  library.  It  was  on  the  cover  of  a  number 
of  Putnam's  Magazine,  which  was  adorned,  as  the  readers 
of  that  day  will  recall,  with  two  tall  palm-trees  extending 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  the  page.  On  the  upper 
part  of  this  cover  was  a  lunette,  drawn  with  pen  and  ink, 
of  a  negro  hoeing  in  a  cotton  field,  and  under  it  was  the 
legend :  "  Am  I  not  a  man  and  a  brother  ? "  On  the 
lower  part  of  the  page  a  similar  lunette  showed  a  Turk 
sitting  cross-legged,  smoking  a  narghile.  On  the  border 
of  the  cover  was  sketched  a  tremendously  elongated  man, 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  343 

about  as  tall  as  the  palm-tree  by  which  he  stood,  ogling  a 
tiny  bird  drawn  on  one  of  its  branches.  Under  this  figure 
Thackeray  had  written  "  Longfellow,"  —  a  pun  fresher  in 
1856  than  now. 


A  writer  in  the  Washington  Post  gives  this  ac 
count  of  a  visit  to  the  poet : 1 — 

Provided  with  a  letter  of  introduction,  I  entered  the 
gate  of  the  grounds,  which  is  ever  hospitably  open ;  and 
standing  on  the  piazza  was  the  gray-haired  poet  himself. 
He  advanced,  and  saluted  his  visitor  with  a  gracious 
courtesy  that  would  have  put  the  most  timid  at  their 
ease  and  kept  the  most  presumptuous  in  check.  He  has 
[a  native]  kindliness  and  a  beautiful  simplicity  in  man 
ner,  —  that  which  the  French  have  aptly  called  the 
"  politeness  of  the  heart,"  — 

"  His  eyes  diffuse  a  venerable  grace, 
And  charity  itself  was  in  his  face." 

...  A  young  enthusiast  exclaimed,  after  seeing  him, 
"  All  the  vulgar  and  pretentious  people  in  the  world 
ought  to  be  sent  to  see  Mr.  Longfellow,  to  learn  how 
to  behave."  He  led  the  way  to  his  study,  a  sunny  cor 
ner  room,  and  wheeling  up  a  comfortable  chair  for  his 
visitor,  seated  himself  in  his  own  especial  chair. 

"  Now,"  said  he  in  the  kindest  voice,  "  tell  me  what  you 
have  written." 

He  listened  with  an  admirable  attention  to  the  story, 
old  but  always  interesting  to  a  veteran,  of  the  struggles 
of  a  literary  beginner.  Then  he  said  impressively,  "  Al 
ways  write  your  best,"  —  repeating  it,  with  his  hand 

1  I  have  drawn  this  and  the  two  passages  which  follow  from  Mr. 
W.  S.  Kennedy's  biography. 


344  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

upraised  — "  remember,  your  best.  Keep  a  scrap-book, 
and  put  in  it  everything  you  write.  It  will  be  of  great 
service  to  you." 

He  spoke  of  Thackeray  with  admiration ;  "  he  was  so 
great,  so  honest  a  writer."  In  speaking  of  the  saints 
whom  the  Eoman  Catholics  revere,  he  said :  "  I  too  have  a 
favorite  saint,  —  St.  Francis  of  Assisi."  .  .  . 

He  agreed  with  his  visitor  in  a  dislike  for  the  modern 
verse  that  makes  sense  subservient  to  sound,  and  turns 
poetry  into  an  elaborate  arrangement  of  ornate  phrases. 
In  response  to  a  quotation  on  the  question,  from  Macaulay, 
to  the  effect  that  literary  style  should  not  only  be  so  clear 
that  it  can  be  understood,  but  so  clear  that  it  cannot  be 
misunderstood,  he  said :  "  I  like  simplicity  in  all  things, 
but  above  all  in  poetry." 

He  spoke  with  strong  aversion  of  the  crude  skepticism 
of  the  day,  explaining,  however,  that  the  term  "  skeptic  " 
was  habitually  misapplied,  as  it  means  not  necessarily 
an  unbeliever,  but  a  seeker  after  truth.  I  remarked  that 
the  first  order  of  mind  was  not  skeptical,  —  Shakespeare, 
Dante,  Milton,  Bacon,  Pascal,  as  compared  with  minds  of 
the  calibre  of  Voltaire  and  Gibbon ;  following  with  a  quo 
tation  of  Thackeray's  noble  lines :  "  0  awful,  awful  Name 
of  God  !  Light  unbearable !  Mystery  unfathomable  !  Vast- 
ness  immeasurable !  O  Name  that  God's  people  did  fear 
to  utter  !  0  Light  that  God's  prophet  would  have  per 
ished  had  he  seen  !  who  are  they  who  now  are  so  familiar 
with  it  ? "  He  seemed  much  struck.  "  That,"  he  said,  "  is 
a  very  grand  sentence." 

He  took  down  two  magnificent  volumes  of  Dante.  "  This 
is  my  latest  present,"  said  he.  I  opened  one,  and  exclaimed : 
"Why,  this  is  Dutch!"  "Yes,  it  is  Dutch,"  said  Mr. 
Longfellow,  smiling ;  "  and  do  you  know  there  is  no  lan 
guage  in  the  world  in  which  Dante  can  be  so  success 
fully  translated  as  Dutch,  owing  to  the  formation  of  the 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  345 

participle  ? "  And  he  gave  a  short  explanation  of  the  dif 
ferences  and  difficulties  of  translating  Dante  into  English 
verse. 


A  correspondent  of  the  Chicago  Times  wrote 
thus  of  his  visit :  — 

My  thoughts  revert  to  a  bright  day  in  last  September, 
when,  with  a  friend,  I  passed  the  morning  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  afternoon  in  Longfellow's  home  with  the  poet 
and  his  daughters.  Over  the  door  of  the  old-fashioned 
and  very  interesting  house  hung  the  American  flag,  half 
furled,  and  draped  in  mourning  for  President  Garfield,  who 
had  died  but  two  days  before.  I  lifted  the  brass  knocker 
with  nervousness,  thinking  of  the  many  distinguished 
people  who  had  sought  admittance  there ;  and  at  once  it 
was  answered  by  a  neat  maid-servant,  who  ushered  us  into 
the  quaint  old  drawing-room,  the  walls  of  which  were  hung 
with  light-colored  paper  with  vines  of  roses  trailing  over 
it,  —  a  style  of  many  years  ago.  We  had  no.  time  for 
further  observation;  for  almost  immediately  Mr.  Long 
fellow  came  in,  greeting  us  most  kindly,  saying,  "  Come  in 
to  my  room,  where  we  shall  be  more  at  ease  ;  I  cannot 
make  strangers  of  you ! "  How  gladly  we  followed  him, 
but  without  a  word  of  reply;  for,  to  acknowledge  the 
truth,  my  heart  at  least  was  beating  too  painfully  with  the 
realization  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the  poet  beloved 
from  my  childhood.  In  person  he  was  smaller  than  I  had 
fancied  him,  —  only  of  medium  height ;  but  his  face, 
made  familiar  by  his  portraits,  seemed  that  of  an  old 
friend.  His  silvery  hair  was  carelessly  thrown  back  from 
his  forehead,  the  full  beard  and  mustache  partially  con 
cealed  the  pleasant  mouth ;  but  his  mild  blue  eyes  ex 
pressed  the  kindliness  of  his  heart  and  his  quick  reading 
of  the  hearts  of  others.  He  wore  a  Prince  Albert  coat  of 


346  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

very  dark  brown  cloth,  with  trousers  of  a  much  lighter 
shade,  and  a  dark-blue  necktie.  In  his  study  we  sat  some 
hours,  listening  to  his  low,  musical  voice  as  he  talked  on 
many  interesting  topics,  and  read  aloud  to  us  from  his 
beautiful  '  Evangeline,'  and  selections  from  other  poets. 
.  .  .  Tn  everything  he  read  he  found  some  new  beauty, 
and  spoke  of  it  with  almost  boyish  pleasure.  We  listened 
with  delight  to  all ;  then  he  said :  "  You  will  tire  of  me 
and  my  nonsense.  Come  and  meet  my  daughters.  I 
shall  not  let  you  go;  you  must  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  us." 
Then  we  were  led  into  the  large,  cheerful  dining-room, 
where  was  spread  a  delicious  luncheon.  Miss  Alice  pre 
sided  ;  Miss  Annie  being  engaged  in  superintending  the 
meal  laid  on  a  tiny  table  out  on  the  broad  porch,  where 
two  little  children  were  being  made  happy.  Mr.  Longfel 
low  was  called,  and  we  followed,  to  look  upon  the  pretty 
scene;  and  when  the  children  saw  him  they  dropped 
their  "  goodies  "  and  ran  to  climb  up  and  receive  his  kiss 
and  beg  him  to  play  with  them.  Then  we  gathered  around 
the  table,  the  copper  kettle  singing  merrily;  and  Mr. 
Longfellow  made  the  tea  with  his  own  hands,  and  poured 
it  from  the  antique  silver  teapot  for  our  enjoyment. 
While  many  dishes  were  offered  us,  the  poet  took  simply 
his  tea  and  Graham  biscuit.  There  was  no  ostentatious 
ceremony,  but  all  was  served  with  quiet  ease,  as  if  only 
the  family  circle  were  gathered  there.  After  lunch  Mr. 
Longfellow  led  us  through  the  house,  pointing  out  his 
favorite  pictures  and  treasures,  relating  interesting  in 
cidents  as  we  passed  from  room  to  room.  .  .  .  Then  we 
nestled  upon  the  broad  east  porch,  while  the  poet  smoked 
a  cigarette  and  chatted  the  while  of  many  books  and  au 
thors.  .  .  .  When  the  hour  arrived  for  our  departure,  the 
venerable  poet  walked  with  us  to  the  gate ;  and  under  the 
beautiful  lilac  hedge  which  surrounds  the  place  we  said 
good-by. 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  347 

A  neighbor  of  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  to  the 
New  York  Independent  as  follows :  — 

The  poet  was  never  more  attractive  than  in  unexpected 
interviews  with  absolute  strangers.  He  received  them 
with  gentle  courtesy,  glided  readily  into  common  topics, 
but  carefully  warded  off  all  complimentary  references  to 
his  works.  This  was  his  invariable  custom  in  general 
conversation.  I  was  present  when  a  distinguished  party 
from  Canada  was  introduced,  and  remember,  when  a 
charming  lady  of  the  party  gracefully  repeated  a  message 
of  high  compliment  from  the  Princess  Louise,  how  courte 
ously  he  received  it,  and  how  instantly  he  turned  the  con 
versation  in  another  direction.  I  remember,  at  another 
of  these  introductions,  a  stranger  lady  distrustfully  asked 
Mr.  Longfellow  for  his  autograph.  He  assured  her  by 
at  once  assenting,  while  he  remarked :  "  I  know  some  per 
sons  object  to  giving  their  autographs ;  but  if  so  little  a 
thing  will  give  pleasure,  how  can  one  refuse  ?  " 

Mr.  Longfellow  often  amused  his  friends  with  humor 
ous  accounts  of  some  of  these  visits.  I  recall  his  account 
of  one  which  seemed  to  delight  him  hugely.  An  Eng 
lish  gentleman  thus  abruptly  introduced  himself  without 
letters :  "  In  other  countries,  you  know,  we  go  to  see  ruins 
and  the  like ;  but  you  have  no  ruins  in  your  country,  and 
I  thought,"  growing  embarrassed,  "  I  thought  I  would  call 
and  see  you"  .  .  . 

I  recollect  his  telling  me  that  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  a 
persistent  ornithologist,  troubled  him  considerably  by  ask 
ing  him  names  of  birds  whose  notes  they  heard  while  sit 
ting  on  his  veranda.  Mr.  Longfellow  was  no  naturalist ; 
he  did  not  know  our  birds  specifically,  and  flowers  are 
sometimes  found  blooming  at  extraordinary  seasons  in  his 
poetry.  He  remarked  to  me  once  upon  the  flaming  splen 
dor  of  the  Cydonia  Japonica  (red-flowering  quince),  and 


348  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

asked  the  name  of  that  familiar  shrub,  saying,  "  I  know 
nothing  about  flowers."  Yet  he  saw  in  Nature  what  no 
mere  naturalist  could  ever  hope  to  see. 


Another  says :  — 

I  was  in  his  library  last  fall  with  a  young  girl  from 
California.  She  had  been  the  wide  world  over,  but  stood 
shy  and  silent  in  his  presence,  moved  to  tears  by  his 
kindly  welcome.  It  was  touching  to  see  the  poet's  ap 
preciation  of  this,  and  his  quick  glance  over  his  table 
that  he  might  find  something  to  interest  her  and  make 
her  forget  her  embarrassment.  Taking  up  a  little  box 
covered  with  glass,  he  put  it  into  her  hand,  and  said: 
"  This  is  a  mournful  thing  to  put  into  the  hands  of  a  bright 
girl ;  but  think  of  it !  six  hundred  years  ago  the  bit 
of  wood  in  that  box  touched  Dante's  bones ; "  and  he  re 
lated  how  this  piece  of  Dante's  coffin  had  come  into  his 
possession.  He  led  her  to  his  piano,  and  asked  her  to 
play  for  him.  He  told  her  anecdotes  of  Coleridge  and 
Moore  as  he  showed  her  their  inkstands.  .  .  .  Soon  his 
young  visitor  was  chatting  with  him  as  freely  as  if  she 
had  not  entered  his  door  with  a  timidity  amounting  almost 
to  fear.  After  that  he  turned  to  us.  I  hope  he  under 
stood  how  this  act  had  been  silently  appreciated  by  us ; 
yet  I  think  he  was  all-unconscious  of  the  picture  he 
created,  —  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those  of  us 
who  witnessed  it. 


A  young  man  writes  :  — 

I  remember  my  visit  to  Mr.  Longfellow  in  1881  as 
well  as  if  it  were  an  event  of  yesterday.  Having  received 
a  box  of  oranges  from  a  young  lady  in  Florida  (for  whom 
I  had,  through  Mr.  Owen,  obtained  an  autograph  of  the 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  349 

poet),  I  carried  a  basket  of  them  to  Cambridge  as  a  sort 
of  thank-offering.  Many  a  time  I  had  paused  in  front  of 
the  old  house  on  Brattle  Street  and  longed  to  enter  and 
tell  what  pleasure  and  comfort  I  had  found  in  reading  the 
poems  that  had  been  written  there.  My  brother  and  I 
stood  in  awe  as  we  waited  on  the  doorstep  for  somebody 
to  answer  our  timid  summons.  The  maid  who  came  said 
that  Mr.  Longfellow  was  in,  and  ushered  us  into  his  pres 
ence.  This  embarrassed  us,  for  we  felt  that  he  should 
first  have  been  asked  whether  he  could  spare  even  a  mo 
ment  to  see  us.  It  seemed  hardly  possible  that  I  was  ac 
tually  in  the  company  of  the  poet  at  last,  where  I  had  so 
often  wished  I  might  be  for  a  moment. 

Our  errand  was  soon  stated,  and  Mr.  Longfellow  ap 
peared  much  pleased  to  accept  our  gift.  "  This  basket  is  so 
pretty  that  I  must  not  deprive  you  of  it,"  he  said ;  and 
he  rang  for  a  maid  to  empty  it  of  the  fruit.  And  then 
he  talked  to  us  about  Florida,  and  about  the  pleasure 
of  visiting  new  scenes ;  talked  about  schools,  "  the  old 
clock,"  and  other  matters.  "We  probably  stayed  only  ten 
minutes ;  yet  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  us,  for  Mr.  Long 
fellow  spoke  so  pleasantly  on  every  subject  on  which  we 
touched.  As  we  left  the  house  he  picked  up  the  Tran 
script  from  the  doorstep,  and  I  went  away,  hoping  that 
some  little  paragraph  which  I  had  written  might  interest 
him  for  a  moment  in  the  evening. 

I  suppose  everybody  has  his  idols.  In  a  humble  way 
I  had  long  worshipped  Mr.  Longfellow,  and  it  gratified  me 
beyond  expression  to  find  him  as  I  had  pictured  him,  — 
the  ideal  of  a  kind,  sympathetic,  noble  man.  "  I  can  never 
forget  that  call,"  said  I  to  my  brother  as  we  walked  down 
the  street  with  light  hearts  ;  "  it  is  the  most  memorable 
in  my  life."  And  my  brother  echoed  the  sentiment.  To 
have  been  in  the  poet's  study,  to  have  seen  him  and  heard 
his  voice,  made  us  completely  happy. 


350  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

A  few  months  later,  a  quantity  of  fresh  jasmine  buds 
came  to  me  from  Mandarin ;  and  as  they  had  been  gath 
ered  near  Mrs.  Stowe's  house,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they 
might  please  Mr.  Longfellow,  they  having  retained  much 
of  their  fragrance  and  something  of  their  beauty.  And 
so  I  sent  some  of  them  to  him ;  and  to  my  surprise  and 
joy  I  received  an  acknowledgment  in  his  own  hand 
writing. 


Mr.  F.  H.  Underwood,  in  a  recent  number  of 
Good  Words,  writes  thus :  — 

His  work  was  done  in  morning  hours.  Doubtless,  he 
had  his  bright  and  his  dull  days,  but  he  never  gave  way 
to  idleness  or  ennui.  When  the  inspiration  came  he  cov 
ered  a  large  space  with  verses ;  but  he  had  the  power  to 
go  back,  and  to  forge  anew  or  retouch  before  the  fire  had 
cooled.  His  methods  were  careful  to  the  last  degree ; 
poems  were  kept  and  considered  a  long  time,  line  by  line ; 
and  he  sometimes  had  them  set  up  in  type  for  better 
scrutiny.  They  were  left  so  perhaps  for  months,  and 
when  they  appeared  it  was  after  rigorous  criticism  had 
been  exhausted. 

He  was  not  without  business  knowledge  and  tact,  but 
he  spent  his  income  generously,  and  much  of  it  in  secret 
charity.  I  knew  of  an  instance  when  an  author,  in  no 
way  intimate  with  him,  was  ill  and  destitute,  and  was 
about  to  sell  his  library ;  and  greatly  to  his  surprise, 
he  received  one  day  Longfellow's  cheque  for  five  hun 
dred  dollars.  He  was  continually  doing  such  acts  of 
kindness. 

His  shrewdness  and  humor  sometimes  took  the  same 
road.  When  '  Hiawatha  '  appeared,  it  was  sharply  attacked 
in  certain  newspapers,  and  Fields,  his  publisher,  after  read- 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  351 

ing  something  particularly  savage,  went  out  in  a  state  of 
excitement  to  see  Longfellow.  The  poet  heard  the  account, 
and  then  in  a  casual  way  said,  "  By  the  way,  Mr.  Fields, 
how  is  the  book  selling  ?  "  "  Enormously  ;  we  are  running 
presses  night  and  day  to  fill  the  orders."  "  Very  well," 
said  Longfellow  quietly,  "then  don't  you  think  we  had 
better  let  these  critics  go  on  advertising  it  ?  " 

At  a  social  gathering  a  poem  recently  published  was 
picked  to  pieces  amid  shouts  of  laughter,  in  which  it  was 
observed  Longfellow  did  not  join.  A  few  minutes  later, 
taking  up  the  despised  poem  and  selecting  here  and  there 
a  good  line  or  phrase,  like  one  looking  for  flowers  rather 
than  nettles,  he  said,  "  After  all,  young  gentlemen,  the  man 
who  has  thought  these  beautiful  things  cannot  be  wholly 
ridiculous  !  " 

On  festive  occasions  he  was  only  shyly,  delicately  hu 
morous,  and  rarely  attempted  an  epigrammatic  sally,  still 
less  to  take  part  in  a  passage-at-arms  ;  but  his  enjoyment 
of  the  gay  skirmishes  between  others  was  evident.  His 
voice,  countenance,  and  manner  conveyed  one  harmonious 
impression.  His  gray-blue  eyes  were  tender  rather  than 
sad,  and  they  were  sometimes  lighted  by  sweet  smiles. 
His  dignified  bearing  made  him  appear  tall,  though  he 
was  not  above  the  medium  height.  A  Frenchman  who 
had  visited  him  described  him  as  being  six  feet.  His 
simple  and  beautiful  courtesy  made  every  caller  think 
himself  a  friend.  In  no  ignoble  sense,  there  was  some 
thing  caressing  in  his  address. 


Mr.  Moncure  Conway  recalls  these  incidents  : 

On  one  occasion  he  met  an  English  friend  in  Boston  on 
the  street.  It  was  just  after  the  return  of  a  fugitive  slave. 
While  the  two  were  conversing,  a  policeman  came  up  and 


352  OTHER  REMINISCENCES. 

told  the  Englishman,  who  had  a  cigar,  that  smoking  was 
not  allowed  in  the  street.  "This  policeman  is  right,"  said 
Longfellow ;  "  Boston  sends  men  into  slavery,  but  allows 
no  smoking  in  the  street." 

Once  when  some  politician  had  made  a  speech  in  which 
he  identified  the  honor  of  America  with  some  national 
injustice,  Longfellow  said  it  reminded  him  of  Gil  Bias 
saying  to  the  horse-dealer  "  that  he  would  trust  to  his 
honesty."  The  horse-dealer  replied,  "  When  you  appeal 
to  my  honesty,  you-  touch  my  weak  point." 

Agassiz  one  day  began  half  playfully  trying  to  persuade 
Longfellow  to  write  a  poem  on  the  great  revelations  of 
science  concerning  the  earth.  He  grew  eloquent  depict 
ing  the  successive  periods  of  primeval  rock,  vast  forests 
of  fern,  strange,  huge  creatures,  etc.  "  There  ought  to  be 
an  epic  written  about  it,"  cried  Agassiz.  Longfellow  said 
he  had  no  doubt  there  ought  to  be,  and  might  be ;  but  he 
was  not  the  man  to  do  it. 


A  lady  relates  that,  passing  one  day  a  jeweller's  window 
in  New  York,  her  attention  was  arrested  by  hearing  from 
a  crowd  gathered  before  it  a  voice  in  unmistakable  brogue 
saying,  "  Shure,  and  that 's  for  Hiawatha."  The  speaker 
was  a  ragged  Irish  laborer,  unshaven  and  unshorn.  She 
looked,  and  saw  a  silver  boat  with  the  figure  of  an  Indian 
standing  in  the  prow.  "  That  must  be,"  continued  the 
speaker,  "  for  a  prisintation  to  the  poet  Longfellow ;  thim 
two  lines  cut  on  the  side  of  the  boat  is  from  his  poethry." 
"  That  is  fame,"  said  the  friend  to  whom  she  told  the  story. 


The  two  following  simple  incidents,  occurring, 
one  in  the  English,  and  the  other  in  the  American, 


OTHER  REMINISCENCES.  353 

Cambridge,  thrown  by  their  observers  into  verse, 
may  close  this  chapter  :  — 

We  plunged  this  morning  into  country  lanes, 

Talking  and  walking  at  our  ease  along, 

When  suddenly  a  distant  sound  of  song 
Stole  down  the  hedgerow  to  us.     No,  no  wains 
With  reapers  chanting  over  harvest  gains, 

For  this  is  Christmas.     Then  the  sound  grew  strong, 

And  presently  a  rosy-cheeked  child-throng 
Tripped  round  the  road-bend,  shrilling  rhymed  strains ;  — 
A  dozen  cottage  children,  brown  as  birds, 

With  wild  high  voices  and  a  fund  of  glee, 
Their  whole  hearts  in  their  singing,  and  their  words 

Thine  own,  gray  poet !  come  from  over  sea. 
We  thought  it  would  have  made  you  very  glad 
If  you  had  met  the  little  choir  we  had. 


I  saw  a  boy  beside  a  poet's  gate 

Coaxing  from  wheezy  pipes  a  doleful  strain, 

And  seeming  some  kind  answer  to  await : 

"  Ah,  boy  ! "  I  said,  "  your  discord  is  in  vain." 

I  saw  a  poet  a  window  open  wide, 

And  smile,  and  toss  down  pennies  to  the  boy ; 

The  great  sun  pushed  the  April  clouds  aside, 
A  tiny  bird  looked  up  and  sang  for  joy. 

Poet  of  all  time  !     Beggar  of  to-day ! 

For  me,  unseen,  this  benison  you  leave, — 
In  God's  great  world  there  is  no  lonely  way ; 

Humblest  and  highest  may  give  and  may  receive.1 

1  It  was  on  one  such  occasion  that  he  said  to  his  companion,  "  I 
always  like  to  pay  the  musicians  ;  they  have  to  work  hard."  And 
smiling,  added,  "  Did  you  ever  carry  a  burden  on  your  back  ? " 

23 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

TRIBUTES. 

AFTER  the  burial  at  Mount  Auburn  on  the  26th 
of  March,  1882,  a  funeral  service  was  held  in  the 
College  Chapel,  at  which  the  Rev.  Professor  C.  C. 
Everett  made  the  following  address  :  — 

In  this  service  of  sympathy  and  reverent  sorrow  it  is  a 
comforting  and  inspiring  thought  that  the  feeling  which 
has  drawn  us  here  is  shared  by  multitudes  wherever  the 
English  tongue  is  spoken.  Many,  indeed,  share  it  to 
whom  the  songs  of  our  poet  are  known  only  in  what  is  to 
them  a  foreign  speech.  It  shows  our  civilization  in  one 
of  its  most  interesting  aspects,  that  a  feeling  so  pro 
found,  so  pure,  so  uplifting,  should  unite  such  a  large  por 
tion  of  the  world  to-day.  Here  is  no  dazzling  position ; 
here  is  no  startling  circumstance :  a  simple  life  has  uttered 
itself  in  song,  and  men  have  listened,  rejoiced,  and  loved, 
and  now  they  mourn.  Yet  for  us  there  is  a  deeper  sorrow. 
While  others  mourn  the  poet  who  is  gone,  we  mourn  the 
man.  He  was  our  townsman,  he  was  our  neighbor,  he 
was  our  friend.  We  knew  the  simple  beauty  of  his  life  ; 
we  knew  its  truth,  its  kindness,  its  helpfulness,  its  strength. 
We  could  not,  indeed,  separate  from  our  thought  of  him  the 
knowledge  of  his  fame  and  of  his  genius ;  but  even  this 
showed  only  his  heart  in  its  true  beauty.  We  saw  him 
wear  the  honors  of  the  world  more  easily  than  many  bear 
the  small  triumphs  of  our  ordinary  life.  Thus  we  knew 
and  loved  him,  and  thus  we  sorrow  for  him. 


TRIBUTES.  355 

But  this  difference  of  which  I  speak  is,  after  all,  one 
chiefly  of  degree.  He  poured  himself  into  his  songs,  and 
wherever  they  went  he  was  found  with  them ;  and  in 
them  others  found  the  beauty  of  that  spirit  which  was  re 
vealed  to  us  in  its  nearer  presence.  Thus  he  drew  very 
near  to  many  hearts  ;  thus  many,  who  never  looked  upon 
his  face,  feel  to-day  that  they,  too,  have  lost  a  friend.  You 
remember  how  sweetly  and  gracefully  he  greets  these  un 
seen  and  unknown  friends  in  the  dedication  of  one  of  his 
books.  He  feels  their  presence,  though  he  sees  them  not. 
He  enters  their  households  sure  of  a  welcome.  Thus  he 

cries :  — 

"  I  hope  as  no  unwelcome  guest 
At  the  warm  fireside,  when  the  lamps  are  lighted, 
To  have  my  place  reserved  among  the  rest." 

The  kindly  request  was  heeded ;  he  found  a  place  in 
many  households  which  he  had  never  seen.  And  now  by 
many  a  fireside  it  is  almost  as  though  there  was  one  more 
"  vacant  chair." 

I  have  said  he  poured  his  life  into  his  work.  It  is 
singular  that  the  phase  of  life  and  experience  which 
forms  so  large  a  portion  of  poetry,  which  many  sing  if 
they  sing  nothing  else,  he  was  content  to  utter  in  prose, 
—  if  prose  we  must  call  the  language  of  his  romances. 
He  seems  content  to  have  scattered  unbound  the  flowers 
of  romantic  love  at  the  doors  of  the  temple  of  his  song. 
There  is  something  strange,  too,  in  the  fascination  which 
the  thought  of  death  has  for  so  many  generous  youth. 
You  remember  that  Bryant  first  won  fame  by  a  hymn  to 
death ;  and  so,  I  think,  the  first  fame  of  Longfellow  which 
won  recognition  for  him  was  that  translation  of  those 
sounding  Spanish  lines  which  exalt  the  majesty  of  death 
and  sing  the  shortness  of  human  life.  But  the  first  song 
of  his  own  which  won  the  recognition  of  the  world  was 
not  a  song  of  death,  it  was  a  psalm  of  life.  That  little 


356  TRIBUTES. 

volume,  the  Voices  of  the  Night,  formed  an  epoch  in 
our  literary  history.  It  breathed  his  whole  spirit,  —  his 
energy,  his  courage,  his  tenderness,  his  faith  ;  it  formed  the 
prelude  of  all  which  should  come  after ;  and  henceforth 
we  find  his  whole  life  imaged  in  his  verse.  I  do  not  mean 
that  he  tore  open  the  secrets  of  the  heart  or  the  home ;  but 
all  is  there,  —  transfigured,  enlarged,  made  universal,  made 
the  common  property  of  all.  We  wander  with  him 
through  foreign  lands ;  he  takes  us  with  him  into  his 
studies,  and  in  his  translations  he  gives  us  their  fairest 
fruits.  We  hear  with  him  the  greeting  of  the  new-born 
child ;  we  are  taken  into  the  sacred  joy  of  home ;  the 
merry  notes  of  the  children's  hour  ring  upon  our  ears ; 
we  feel  the  pains  of  sorrow  and  of  loss ;  we  hear  the 
prayer  of  elevated  trust.  And  when  age  draws  near  at 
last,  when  the  shadows  begin  to  fall,  then  we  share 
with  him  the  solemnity  and  sublimity  of  the  gathering 
darkness. 

The  life  which  is  thus  imaged  in  these  songs  was  one 
that  was  fitted  for  such  use.  I  think  we  may  look  at 
it  as  one  of  the  most  rounded  lives  that  ever  has  been 
lived  upon  earth,  so  that  we  can  say  there  seems  little 
that  was  lacking  to  its  perfect  completeness.  I  do  not 
mean  there  was  no  sorrow  in  it.  What  life  can  be  made 
perfect  without  that  ?  What  poet's  life  can  be  made  com 
plete  without  the  experience  of  suffering  ?  But  from  the 
very  first  his  life  flowed  on  its  calm  and  even  way.  His 
first  songs  received  the  applause  of  the  world,  and  the 
sympathy  of  men  moved  with  him  as  he  moved  forward 
in  his  work.  Travel  in  foreign  lands  enlarged  his  sympa 
thies  and  added  a  picturesqueness  to  his  poems  which 
they  otherwise  might  have  lacked.  The  literature  of  all 
ages  and  nations  was  open  to  him,  and  he  drew  from  all. 
It  is  said,  I  know,  that  thus  he  represents  the  culture  of 
the  past  and  of  foreign  lands ;  that  he  is  not  our  poet,  not 


TRIBUTES.  357 

American.  But  what  is  the  genius  of  our  country,  what 
is  American  ?  Is  it  not  the  very  genius  of  our  nation  to 
bring  together  elements  from  far-off  lands,  fusing  them  into 
one,  and  making  a  new  type  of  man  ?  The  American  poet 
should  represent  the  genius  of  all  lands.  He  must  have 
no  provincial  Muse.  He  must  sing  of  the  forest  and  of 
the  sea ;  but  not  of  these  alone.  He  must  be  "  heir  of  all 
the  ages."  He  must  be  a  representative  of  all  the  cul 
ture  of  all  time.  He  must  absorb  all  things  into  himself, 
and  stand  free,  strong,  able,  a  man  as  simple  as  though  he 
had  never  strayed  beyond  his  native  woods.  He  must,  in 
other  words,  be  like  our  Longfellow.  When  what  we  may 
call  his  preparation  was  completed,  his  life  flowed  on  its 
course,  gathering  only  greater  and  calmer  feelings  as  it 
flowed.  His  age  was  as  beautiful  as  his  manhood  and  his 
youth.  'Morituri  Salutamus,'  that  marvellous  poem,  is 
perhaps  the  grandest  hymn  to  age  that  was  ever  written. 
Death  is  no  distant  dream,  as  it  was  when  those  sounding 
Spanish  lines  fell  from  his  pen ;  he  feels  its  shadows ;  he 
feels  that  the  end  is  drawing  near.  But  there  he  stands, 
strong  and  calm,  with  sublime  faith  as  at  first ;  he  greets 
the  present  as  he  greeted  the  past ;  he  gathers  from  the 
coming  of  age,  from  approaching  night,  not  a  signal  for 
rest,  but  a  new  summons  to  activity.  He  cries  :  — 

"  It  is  too  late  !    Ah,  nothing  is  too  late 
Till  the  tired  heart  shall  cease  to  palpitate." 

And  so  he  takes  up  his  glad  work  again ;  and  I  think 
some  of  his  sweetest  and  deepest  songs  date  from  this 
latest  period,  —  such  as  that  graceful  poem  to  Tennyson, 
that  chivalrous  greeting  from  one  son  of  song  to  another, 
and  that  tender  message  that  he  sent  to  Lowell  across  the 
seas  in  '  Elmwood  Herons.'  There  comes  in  a  little  play 
fulness,  too,  of  which  there  was  not  much  in  his  earlier 
songs. 


358  TRIBUTES. 

His  was  a  calm,  loving  age,  full  of  activity,  confidence, 
and  peace.  He  writes  upon  his  latest  volume  those  words 
tkat  mark  the  end  of  his  career,  and  his  labors  are  at  an 
end.  The  Ultima  Thule  has  been  reached.  The  world's 
love  gathered  about  him  as  he  lived,  and  its  homage  was 
breathed  into  his  ear.  On  his  last  birthday  there  was 
paid  to  him  an  ovation  given  to  few  living.  Prom  the 
home  of  his  youth  in  Maine  came  greetings ;  children's 
voices,  those  which  were  ever  most  welcome  to  his  ear, 
joined  in  the  acclaim.  Thus  the  story  of  his  life  was 
completed.  His  last  book  had  been  written,  and  marked 
by  him  as  his  last ;  the  final  greeting  of  the  world  had 
been  uttered  to  him,  and  he  passed  away. 

"  He  passed  away  ! "  I  think  we  have  not  yet  learned 
the  meaning  of  those  words.  I  think  we  do  not  yet  quite 
feel  them.  We  still  half  think  we  may  sometimes  meet  him 
in  his  familiar  haunts.  Does  not  this  protest  of  the  heart 
contain  a  truth  ?  His  spirit,  as  we  trust,  has  been  called 
to  higher  service ;  yet  he  had  given  himself  unto  the  world, 
he  had  breathed  himself  into  his  songs:  in  them  he  is 
with  us  still.  Wherever  they  go,  as  they  wander  over 
the  world,  he  will  be  with  them,  a  minister  of  love ;  he 
will  be  by  the  side  of  youth,  pointing  to  heights  as  yet 
unsealed,  bidding  him  have  faith  and  courage;  he  will 
be  with  the  wanderer  in  foreign  lands,  making  the  beauty 
that  he  sees  more  fair ;  he  will  be  with  the  mariner  on  the 
seas  ;  he  will  be  in  the  quiet  beauty  of  home ;  he  will  be 
by  the  side  of  the  sorrowing  heart,  pointing  to  a  higher 
faith.  When  old  age  is  gathering  about  the  human  soul, 
he  will  be  there  still,  to  cry  that  "  age  is  opportunity 
no  less  than  youth  itself."  Thus  will  he  inspire  faith 
and  courage  in  all,  and  point  us  all  to  those  two  sources 
of  strength  that  never  fail,  — "  Heart  within,  and  God 
o'erhead." 


TRIBUTES.  359 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  of  which  Mr.  Longfellow  had  been  for 
twenty-five  years  a  member,  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  addressed  the  Society  as  follows :  — 

It  is  with  no  vain  lamentations,  but  rather  with  pro 
found  gratitude,  that  we  follow  the  soul  of  our  much-loved 
and  long-loved  poet  beyond  the  confines  of  the  world 
he  helped  so  largely  to  make  beautiful.  We  could  have 
wished  to  keep  him  longer ;  but  at  least  we  were  spared 
witnessing  the  inevitable  shadows  of  an  old  age  protracted 
too  far  beyond  its  natural  limits.  From  the  first  notes  of 
his  fluent  and  harmonious  song  to  the  last,  which  comes  to 
us  as  the  "  voice  fell  like  a  falling  star,"  there  has  never 
been  a  discord.  The  music  of  the  mountain  stream,  in  the 
poem  which  reaches  us  from  the  other  shore  of  being,1 
is  as  clear  and  sweet  as  the  melodies  of  the  youthful 
and  middle  periods  of  his  minstrelsy.  It  has  been  a 
fully  rounded  life,  beginning  early  with  large  promise, 
equalling  every  anticipation  in  its  maturity,  fertile  and 
beautiful  to  its  close  in  the  ripeness  of  its  well-filled 
years. 

Until  the  silence  fell  upon  us  we  did  not  entirely  appre 
ciate  how  largely  his  voice  was  repeated  in  the  echoes  of 
our  own  hearts.  The  affluence  of  his  production  so  accus 
tomed  us  to  look  for  a  poem  from  him  at  short  intervals 
that  we  could  hardly  feel  how  precious  that  was  which 
was  so  abundant.  Not,  of  course,  that  every  single  poem 
reached  the  standard  of  the  highest  among  them  all.  That 
could  not  be  in  Homer's  time,  and  mortals  must  occa 
sionally  nod  now  as  then.  But  the  hand  of  the  artist 
shows  itself  unmistakably  in  everything  which  left  his 

1  The  poem  '  Mad  River  in  the  White  Mountains '  appeared  in  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  after  Mr.  Longfellow's  death. 


360  TRIBUTES. 

desk.  The  O  of  Giotto  could  not  help  being  a  perfect 
round,  and  the  verse  of  Longfellow  is  always  perfect  in 
construction. 

He  worked  in  that  simple  and  natural  way  which  char 
acterizes  the  master.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  be  simple 
through  poverty  of  intellect,  and  another  thing  to  be  sim 
ple  by  repression  of  all  redundancy  and  overstatement ;  one 
thing  to  be  natural  through  ignorance  of  all  rules,  and  an 
other  to  have  made  a  second  nature  out  of  the  sovereign 
rules  of  art.  In  respect  of  this  simplicity  and  naturalness, 
his  style  is  in  strong  contrast  to  that  of  many  writers  of 
our  time.  There  is  no  straining  for  effect,  there  is  no 
torturing  of  rhythm  for  novel  patterns,  no  wearisome 
iteration  of  petted  words,  no  inelegant  clipping  of  syl 
lables  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  a  verse,  no  affected  ar 
chaism,  rarely  any  liberty  taken  with  language,  —  unless 
it  may  be  in  the  form  of  a  few  words  in  the  translation  of 
Dante.  I  will  not  except  from  these  remarks  the  singular 
and  original  form  which  he  gave  to  his  poem  of  '  Hiawatha,' 
—  a  poem  with  a  curious  history  in  many  respects.  Sud 
denly  and  immensely  popular  in  this  country,  greatly  ad 
mired  by  many  foreign  critics,  imitated  with  perfect  ease 
by  any  clever  schoolboy,  serving  as  a  model  for  metrical 
advertisements,  made  fun  of,  sneered  at,  abused,  admired, 
but,  at  any  rate,  a  picture  full  of  pleasing  fancies  and 
melodious  cadences.  The  very  names  are  jewels  which 
the  most  fastidious  Muse  might  be  proud  to  wear.  Coming 
from  the  realm  of  the  Androscoggin  and  of  Moosetukma- 
guntuk,  how  could  he  have  found  two  such  delicious  names 
as  Hiawatha  and  Minnehaha  ?  The  eight-syllable  trochaic 
verse  of  '  Hiawatha,'  like  the  eight-syllable  iambic  verse  of 
'  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  and  others  of  Scott's  poems,  has  a 
fatal  facility,  which  I  have  elsewhere  endeavored  to  explain 
on  physiological  principles.  The  recital  of  each  line  uses 
up  the  air  of  one  natural  expiration,  so  that  we  read,  as  we 


TRIBUTES.  361 

naturally  do,  eighteen  or  twenty  lines  in  a  minute,  without 
disturbing  the  normal  rhythm  of  breathing,  which  is  also 
eighteen  or  twenty  breaths  to  the  minute.  The  standing 
objection  to  this  is,  that  it  makes  the  octosyllabic  verse 
too  easy  writing  and  too  slipshod  reading.  Yet  in  this 
most  frequently  criticised  composition  the  poet  has  shown 
a  subtle  sense  of  the  requirements  of  his  simple  story  of  a 
primitive  race,  in  choosing  the  most  fluid  of  measures,  that 
lets  the  thought  run  through  it  in  easy  sing-song,  such  as 
oral  tradition  would  be  sure  to  find  on  the  lips  of  the  story 
tellers  of  the  wigwam.  Although  Longfellow  was  not  fond 
of  metrical  contortions  and  acrobatic  achievements,  he  well 
knew  the  effects  of  skilful  variation  in  the  forms  of  verse 
and  well-managed  refrains  or  repetitions.  In  one  of  his 
very  earliest  poems  — '  Pleasant  it  was  when  woods  were 
green'  —  the  dropping  a  syllable  from  the  last  line  [but 
one]  is  an  agreeable  surprise  to  the  ear,  expecting  only  the 
common  monotony  of  scrupulously  balanced  lines.  In 
'  Excelsior '  the  repetition  of  the  aspiring  exclamation 
which  gives  its  name  to  the  poem  lifts  every  stanza  a 
step  higher  than  the  one  which  preceded  it.  In  the  '  Old 
Clock  on  the  Stair '  the  solemn  words,  "  Forever,  never, 
never,  forever,"  give  wonderful  effectiveness  to  that  most 
impressive  poem. 

All  his  art,  all  his  learning,  all  his  melody,  cannot  ac 
count  for  his  extraordinary  popularity,  not  only  among  his 
own  countrymen  and  those  who  in  other  lands  speak  the 
language  in  which  he  wrote,  but  in  foreign  realms,  where 
he  could  only  be  read  through  the  ground  glass  of  a  trans 
lation.  It  was  in  his  choice  of  subjects  that  one  source  of 
the  public  favor  with  which  his  writings,  more  especially 
his  poems,  were  received,  obviously  lay.  A  poem,  to  be 
widely  popular,  must  deal  with  thoughts  and  emotions 
that  belong  to  common,  not  exceptional  character,  con 
ditions,  interests.  The  most  popular  of  all  books  are  those 


362  TRIBUTES. 

which  meet  the  spiritual  needs  of  mankind  most  power 
fully, —  such  works  as  the  Imitation  of  Christ  and  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress.  I  suppose  if  the  great  multitude  of 
readers  were  to  render  a  decision  as  to  which  of  Long 
fellow's  poems  they  most  valued,  the  '  Psalm  of  Life ' 
would  command  the  largest  number.  This  is  a  brief  hom 
ily,  enforcing  the  great  truths  of  duty  and  of  our  rela 
tion  to  the  unseen  world.  Next  in  order  would  very 
probably  come  '  Excelsior,'  —  a  poem  that  springs  upward 
like  a  flame  and  carries  the  soul  up  with  it  in  its  aspiration 
for  the  unattainable  ideal.  If  this  sounds  like  a  trumpet- 
call  to  the  fiery  energies  of  youth,  not  less  does  the  still 
small  voice  of  that  most  sweet  and  tender  poem,  '  Resigna 
tion/  appeal  to  the  sensibilities  of  those  who  have  lived  long 
enough  to  know  the  bitterness  of  such  a  bereavement  as 
that  out  of  which  grew  the  poem.  Or  take  a  poem  before 
referred  to,  'The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stair ; '  and  in  it  we  find 
the  history  of  innumerable  households  told  in  relating  the 
history  of  one,  and  the  solemn  burden  of  the  song  repeats 
itself  to  thousands  of  listening  readers,  as  if  the  beat  of  the 
pendulum  were  throbbing  at  the  head  of  every  staircase. 
Such  poems  as  these  —  and  there  are  many  more  of  not 
unlike  character  —  are  the  foundation  of  that  universal 
acceptance  his  writings  obtain  among  all  classes.  But 
for  thefee  appeals  to  universal  sentiment,  his  readers  would 
have  been  confined  to  a  comparatively  small  circle  of  the 
educated  and  refined.  There  are  thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  who  are  familiar  with  what  we  might  call 
his  household  poems  who  have  never  read  the  Spanish 
Student,  '  The  Golden  Legend,' '  Hiawatha,'  or  even  '  Evan- 
geline.'  Again,  ask  the  first  schoolboy  you  meet  which  of 
Longfellow's  poems  he  likes  best,  and  he  will  be  very  likely 
to  answer, '  Paul  Eevere's  Ride.'  When  he  is  a  few  years 
older  he  might  perhaps  say,  '  The  Pmilding  of  the  Ship,' 
—  that  admirably  constructed  poem,  beginning  with  the 


TRIBUTES.  363 

literal  description,  passing  into  the  higher  region  of  senti 
ment  by  the  most  natural  of  transitions,  and  ending  with 
the  noble  climax,  — 

"  Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State," 

which  has  become  the  classical  expression  of  patriotic 
emotion. 

Nothing  lasts  like  a  coin  and  a  lyric.  Long  after  the 
dwellings  of  men  have  disappeared,  when  their  temples 
are  in  ruins  and  all  their  works  of  art  are  shattered,  the 
ploughman  strikes  an  earthen  vessel  holding  the  golden 
and  silver  disks  on  which  the  features  of  a  dead  monarch 
—  with  emblems,  it  may  be,  betraying  the  beliefs  or  the 
manners,  the  rudeness  or  the  finish  of  art,  and  all  which 
this  implies  —  survive  an  extinct  civilization.  Pope  has 
expressed  this  with  his  usual  Horatian  felicity  in  the 
letter  to  Addison  on  the  publication  of  his  little  Treatise 
on  Coins,  — 

"  A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  rolled, 
And  little  eagles  wave  their  wings  in  gold." 

Conquerors  and  conquered  sink  in  common  oblivion  ;  tri 
umphal  arches,  pageants  the  world  wonders  at,  all  that 
trumpeted  itself  as  destined  to  an  earthly  immortality, 
pass  away  ;  the  victor  of  a  hundred  battles  is  dust ;  the 
parchments  or  papyrus  on  which  his  deeds  were  written 
are  shrivelled  and  decayed  and  gone,  — 

"  And  all  his  triumphs  shrink  into  a  coin." 

So  it  is  with  a  lyric  poem.  One  happy  utterance  of 
some  emotion  or  expression,  which  comes  home  to  all, 
may  keep  a  name  remembered  when  the  race  to  which 
the  singer  belonged  is  lost  sight  of.  The  cradle-song  of 
Danae  to  her  infant  as  they  tossed  on  the  waves  in  the 
imprisoning  chest,  has  made  the  name  of  Simonides  immor- 


364  TRIBUTES. 

tal.  Our  own  English  literature  abounds  with  instances 
which  illustrate  the  same  fact  so  far  as  the  experience  of 
a  few  generations  extends  ;  and  I  think  we  may  venture 
to  say  that  some  of  the  shorter  poems  of  Longfellow  must 
surely  reach  a  remote  posterity,  and  be  considered  then,  as 
now,  ornaments  to  English  literature.  We  may  compare 
them  with  the  best  short  poems  of  the  language  without 
fearing  that  they  will  suffer.  Scott,  cheerful,  wholesome, 
unrefiective,  should  be  read  in  the  open  air ;  Byron,  the 
poet  of  malecontents  and  cynics,  in  a  prison-cell ;  Burns, 
generous,  impassioned,  manly,  social,  in  the  tavern-hall ; 
Moore,  elegant,  fastidious,  full  of  melody,  scented  with 
the  volatile  perfume  of  the  Eastern  gardens,  in  which  his 
fancy  revelled,  is  pre-eminently  the  poet  of  the  drawing- 
room  and  the  piano ;  Longfellow,  thoughtful,  musical, 
home -loving,  busy  with  the  lessons  of  life,  which  he  was 
ever  studying,  and  loved  to  teach  others,  finds  his  charmed 
circle  of  listeners  by  the  fireside.  His  songs,  which  we 
might  almost  call  sacred  ones,  rarely  if  ever  get  into  the 
hymn-books.  They  are  too  broadly  human  to  suit  the 
specialized  tastes  of  the  sects,  which  often  think  more  of 
their  differences  from  each  other  than  of  the  common 
ground  on  which  they  can  agree.  Shall  we  think  less 
of  our  poet  because  he  so  frequently  aimed  in  his  verse 
not  simply  to  please,  but  also  to  impress  some  elevating 
thought  on  the  minds  of  his  readers  ?  The  Psalms  of 
King  David  are  burning  with  religious  devotion  and  full 
of  weighty  counsel ;  but  they  are  not  less  valued,  certainly, 
than  the  poems  of  Omar  Khayam,  which  cannot  be  ac 
cused  of  too  great  a  tendency  to  find  a  useful  lesson  in 
their  subject.  Dennis,  the  famous  critic,  found  fault  with 
the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock '  because  it  had  no  moral.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  a  poem  should  carry  a  moral,  any  more 
than  that  a  picture  of  a  Madonna  should  always  be  an 
altar-piece.  The  poet  himself  is  the  best  judge  of  that 


TRIBUTES.  365 

in  each  particular  case.  In  that  charming  little  poem 
of  Wordsworth's,  ending, — 

"  And  then  my  heart  with  rapture  thrills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils," 

we  do  not  ask  for  anything  more  than  the  record  of  the 
impression  which  is  told  so  simply,  and  which  justifies 
itself  by  the  way  in  which  it  is  told.  But  who  does  not 
feel  with  the  poet  that  the  touching  story,  '  Hart-leap 
Well,'  must  have  its  lesson  brought  out  distinctly,  to  give  a 
fitting  close  to  the  narrative  ?  Who  would  omit  those  two 
lines  ?  — 

"  Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  lives." 

No  poet  knew  better  than  Longfellow  how  to  impress  a 
moral  without  seeming  to  preach.  Didactic  verse,  as  such, 
is  no  doubt  a  formidable  visitation ;  but  a  cathedral  has 
its  lesson  to  teach  as  well  as  a  school-house.  These  beau 
tiful  medallions  of  verse  which  Longfellow  has  left  us 
might  possibly  be  found  fault  with  as  conveying  too  much 
useful  and  elevating  truth  in  their  legends,  having  the 
unartistic  aim  of  being  serviceable  as  well  as  delighting 
by  their  beauty.  Let  us  leave  such  comment  to  the 
critics  who  cannot  handle  a  golden  coin,  fresh  from  the 
royal  mint,  without  clipping  its  edges  and  stamping  their 
own  initials  on  its  face. 

Of  the  longer  poems  of  our  chief  singer,  I  should  not 
hesitate  to  select  '  Evangeline  '  as  the  masterpiece ;  and  I 
think  the  general  verdict  of  opinion  would  confirm  my 
choice.  The  German  model  which  it  follows  in  its  meas 
ure  and  the  character  of  its  story  was  itself  suggested  by 
an  earlier  idyl.  If  Dorothea  was  the  mother  of  Evange 
line,  Luise  was  the  mother  of  Dorothea.  And  what  a 
beautiful  creation  is  the  Acadian  maiden  !  From  the  first 
line  of  the  poem,  from  its  first  words,  we  read  as  we  would 


366  TRIBUTES. 

float  down  a  broad  and  placid  river,  murmuring  softly 
against  its  banks,  heaven  over  it  and  the  glory  of  the 
unspoiled  wilderness  all  around, 

"  This  is  the  forest  primeval." 
The  words  are  already  as  familiar  as 

"Mqviv  aeiSe,  &d," 

or 

"  Anna  virumque  cano." 

The  hexameter  has  been  often  criticised  ;  but  I  do  not  be 
lieve  any  other  measure  could  have  told  that  lovely  story 
with  such  effect,  as  we  feel  when  carried  along  the  tranquil 
current  of  these  brimming,  slow-moving,  soul-satisfying 
lines.  Imagine  for  one  moment  a  story  like  this  minced 
into  octosyllabics.  The  poet  knows  better  than  his  critics 
the  length  of  step  which  best  befits  his  Muse. 

I  will  not  take  up  your  time  with  any  further  remarks 
upon  writings  so  well  known  to  all.  By  the  poem  I  have 
last  mentioned,  and  by  his  lyrics,  or  shorter  poems,  I  think 
the  name  of  Longfellow  will  be  longest  remembered. 
Whatever  he  wrote,  whether  in  prose  or  poetry,  bore  al 
ways  the  marks  of  the  finest  scholarship,  the  purest  taste, 
fertile  imagination,  a  sense  of  the  music  of  words,  and 
a  skill  in  bringing  it  out  of  our  English  tongue,  which 
hardly  more  than  one  of  his  contemporaries  who  write  in 
that  language  can  be  said  to  equal. 

The  saying  of  Buffon,  that  the  style  is  the  man  himself, 
—  or  of  the  man  himself,  as  some  versions  have  it,  —  was 
never  truer  than  in  the  case  of  our  beloved  poet.  Let  iis 
understand  by  "  style  "  all  that  gives  individuality  to  the 
expression  of  a  writer ;  and  in  the  subjects,  the  handling, 
the  spirit  and  aim  of  his  poems,  we  see  the  reflex  of  a  per 
sonal  character  which  made  him  worthy  of  that  almost 
unparalleled  homage  which  crowned  his  noble  life.  Such 
a  funeral  procession  as  attended  him  in  thought  to  his 


TRIBUTES.  367 

resting-place  has  never  joined  the  train  of  mourners  that 
followed  the  hearse  of  a  poet,  —  could  we  not  say  of  any 
private  citizen  ?  And  we  all  feel  that  no  tribute  could 
be  too  generous,  too  universal,  to  the  union  of  a  divine 
gift  with  one  of  the  loveliest  of  human  characters. 

Dr.  Holmes  was  followed  by  Mr.  Charles  Eliot 
Norton,  who  said  :  — 

I  could  wish  that  this  were  a  silent  meeting.  There  is 
no  need  of  formal  commemorative  speech  to-day,  for  all 
the  people  of  the  land,  the  whole  English-speaking  race,  — 
and  not  they  alone,  —  mourn  our  friend  and  poet.  Never 
was  poet  so  mourned,  for  never  was  poet  so  beloved. 

There  is  nothing  of  lamentation  in  our  mourning.  He 
has  not  been  untimely  taken.  His  life  was  "  prolonged 
with  many  years,  happy  and  famous."  Death  came  to  him 
in  good  season,  or  ever  the  golden  bowl  was  broken,  or  the 
pitcher  broken  at  the  cistern.  Desire  had  but  lately  failed. 
Life  was  fair  to  him  almost  to  its  end.  On  his  seventy- 
fourth  birthday,  a  little  more  than  a  year  ago,  with  his 
family  and  a  few  friends  round  his  dinner-table,  he  said, 
"  There  seems  to  me  a  mistake  in  the  order  of  the  years  : 
I  can  hardly  believe  that  the  four  should  not  precede  the 
seven."  But  in  the  year  that  followed  he  experienced  the 
pains  and  languor  and  weariness  of  age.  There  was  no 
complaint ;  the  sweetness  of  his  nature  was  invincible. 

On  one  of  the  last  times  that  I  saw  him,  as  I  entered 
his  familiar  study  on  a  beautiful  afternoon  of  this  past 
winter,  I  said  to  him,  "  I  hope  this  is  a  good  day  for 
you  ?  "  He  replied,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  Ah  !  there 
are  no  good  days  now."  Happily,  the  evil  days  were  not 
to  be  many.  .  .  . 

The  accord  between  the  character  and  life  of  Mr.  Long 
fellow  and  his  poems  was  complete.  His  poetry  touched 


368  TRIBUTES. 

the  hearts  of  his  readers  because  it  was  the  sincere  expres 
sion  of  his  own.  The  sweetness,  the  gentleness,  the  grace, 
the  purity  of  his  verse  were  the  image  of  his  own  soul. 
But  beautiful  and  ample  as  this  expression  of  himself  was, 
it  fell  short  of  the  truth.  The  man  was  more  and  better 
than  the  poet. 

Intimate,  however,  as  was  the  concord  between  the  poet 
and  his  poetry,  there  was  much  in  him  to  which  he  never 
gave  utterance  in  words.  He  was  a  man  of  deep  reserves. 
He  kept  the  holy  of  holies  within  himself  inviolable  and 
secluded.  Seldom  does  he  admit  his  readers  to  even  its 
outward  precincts.  The  deepest  experiences  of  life  are  too 
sacred  to  be  shared  with  any  one  whatsoever.  "  There  are 
things  of  which  I  may  not  speak,"  he  says  in  one  of  the 
most  personal  of  his  poems. 

"  Whose  hand  shall  dare  to  open  and  explore 
Those  volumes  closed  and  clasped  forevermore  ? 
Not  mine.     With  reverential  feet  I  pass." 

It  was  the  felicity  of  Mr.  Longfellow  to  share  the  senti 
ment  and  emotion  of  his  coevals,  and  to  succeed  in  giving 
to  them  their  apt  poetic  expression.  It  was  not  by  depth 
of  thought  or  by  original  views  of  nature  that  he  won  his 
place  in  the  world's  regard ;  but  it  was  by  sympathy  with 
the  feelings  common  to  good  men  and  women  everywhere, 
and  by  the  simple,  direct,  sincere,  and  delicate  expression 
of  them,  that  he  gained  the  affection  of  mankind. 

He  was  fortunate  in  the  time  of  his  birth.  He  grew  up 
in  the  morning  of  our  Eepublic.  He  shared  in  the  cheer 
fulness  of  the  early  hour,  in  its  hopefulness,  its  confidence. 
The  years  of  his  youth  and  early  manhood  coincided  with 
an  exceptional  moment  of  national  life,  in  which  a  pros 
perous  and  unembarrassed  democracy  was  learning  its  own 
capacities  and  was  beginning  to  realize  its  large  and  novel 
resources ;  in  which  the  order  of  society  was  still  simple 


TRIBUTES.  369 

and  humane.  He  became,  more  than  any  one  else,  the 
voice  of  this  epoch  of  national  progress,  —  an  epoch  of  un 
exampled  prosperity  for  the  masses  of  mankind  in  our  New 
World,  prosperity  from  which  sprang  a  sense,  more  general 
and  deeper  than  had  ever  before  been  felt,  of  human  kind 
ness  and  brotherhood.  But,  even  to  the  prosperous,  life 
brings  its  inevitable  burden.  Trial,  sorrow,  misfortune, 
are  not  to  be  escaped  by  the  happiest  of  men.  The  deep 
est  experiences  of  each  individual  are  the  experiences  com 
mon  to  the  whole  race.  And  it  is  this  double  aspect  of 
American  life  —  its  novel  and  happy  conditions,  with  the 
genial  spirit  resulting  from  them,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
its  subjection  to  the  old,  absolute,  universal  laws  of  exist 
ence —  that  finds  its  mirror  and  manifestation  in  Long 
fellow's  poetry. 

No  one  can  read  his  poetry  without  a  conviction  of  the 
simplicity,  tenderness,  and  humanity  of  the  poet.  And  we 
who  were  his  friends  know  how  these  qualities  shone  in 
his  daily  conversation.  Praise,  applause,  flattery,  —  and 
no  man  ever  was  exposed  to  more  of  them,  —  never 
touched  him  to  harm  him.  He  walked  through  their 
flames  unscathed,  as  Dante  through  the  fires  of  purgatory. 
His  modesty  was  perfect.  He  accepted  the  praise  as  he 
would  have  accepted  any  other  pleasant  gift,  —  glad  of  it 
as  an  expression  of  good-will,  but  without  personal  ela 
tion.  Indeed,  he  had  too  much  of  it,  and  often  in  an 
absurd  form,  not  to  become  at  times  weary  of  what  his 
own  fame  and  virtues  brought  upon  him.  But  his  kindli 
ness  did  not  permit  him  to  show  his  weariness  to  those 
who  did  but  burden  him  with  their  admiration.  It  was 
the  penalty  of  his  genius,  and  he  accepted  it  with  the 
pleasantest  temper  and  a  humorous  resignation.  Bores  of 
all  nations,  especially  of  our  own,  persecuted  him.  His 
long-suffering  patience  was  a  wonder  to  his  friends;  it 
was,  in  truth,  the  sweetest  charity.  No  man  was  ever 


370  TRIBUTES. 

before  so  kind  to  these  moral  mendicants.  One  day  I 
ventured  to  remonstrate  with  him  on  his  endurance  of 
the  persecutions  of  one  of  the  worst  of  the  class,  who  to 
lack  of  modesty  added  lack  of  honesty,  —  a  wretched  crea 
ture;  and  when  I  had  done,  he  looked  at  me  with  a 
pleasant,  reproving,  humorous  glance,  and  said,  "  Charles, 
who  would  be  kind  to  him  if  I  were  not?"  It  was 
enough.  He  was  helped  by  a  gift  of  humor  which, 
though  seldom  displayed  in  his  poems,  lighted  up  his  talk 
and  added  a  charm  to  his  intercourse.  He  was  the  most 
gracious  of  men  in  his  own  home;  he  was  fond  of  the 
society  of  his  friends,  and  the  company  that  gathered  in 
his  study  or  round  his  table  took  its  tone  from  his  own 
genial,  liberal,  cultivated,  and  refined  nature. 

"  With  loving  breath  of  all  the  winds  his  name 
Is  blown  about  the  world ;  but  to  his  friends 

A  sweeter  secret  hides  behind  his  fame, 

And  love  steals  shyly  through  the  loud  acclaim 

To  murmur  a  God  bless  you  !  and  there  ends." 

His  verse,  his  fame,  are  henceforth  the  precious  posses 
sions  of  the  people  whom  he  loved  so  well.  They  will  be 
among  the  effective  instruments  in  shaping  the  future 
character  of  the  nation.  His  spirit  will  continue  to  soften, 
to  refine,  to  elevate  the  hearts  of  men.  He  will  be  the 
beloved  friend  of  future  generations  as  he  has  been  of  his 
own.  His  desire  will  be  gratified,  — 

"  And  in  your  life  let  my  remembrance  linger, 
As  something  not  to  trouble  and  disturb  it, 
But  to  complete  it,  adding  life  to  life. 
And  if  at  times  beside  the  evening  fire 
You  see  my  face  among  the  other  faces, 
Let  it  not  be  regarded  as  a  ghost 
That  haunts  your  house,  but  as  a  guest  that  loves  you. 


TRIBUTES.  371 


LONGFELLOW  IN  ENGLAND,   1868. 

AN  English  greeting  to  the  Bard  who  bears 
His  chaplet  of  sweet  song  from  that  far  West 
Where  pine-woods,  with  their  branches  low  depress'd, 

Cease  not  lamenting  to  the  scented  airs 

For  Hiawatha  as  he  disappears, 

Swift  sailing  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
And  for  Evangeline,  who,  now  at  rest, 

With  our  own  Gertrude's  self  the  amaranth  shares. 

Glad  greeting  !  for  in  many  an  English  home 
The  poet's  voice  has  pierced  the  silent  night 

With  chants  of  high  resolve,  and  joys  that  come 
At  Duty's  summons;  then  Hope's  answering  light, 

Clear  as  the  red  star  watching  o'er  the  earth, 

Glows  forth  afresh  on  life's  rekindled  hearth. 

H.  A.  BRIGHT. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

TABLE-TALK. 

MR.  LONGFELLOW,  like  other  writers,  was  in  the 
habit  of  jotting  down  thoughts  upon  scraps  of 
paper.  Many  of  these  he  used  in  his  books,  as  in 
Hyperion,  and  especially  in  Kavanagh, —  where, 
indeed,  he  has  given  a  page  or  two  of  them,  as 
written  by  Mr.  Churchill  on  the  panels  of  the  old 
pulpit  in  his  study.  Others  are  printed  as  "  Table- 
Talk  "  in  Drift-wood.  A  few  of  the  unpublished 
ones  have  been  given  in  the  previous  pages  under 
the  dates  which  were  attached  to  them.  Others 
are  inserted  here. 

Too  many  enthusiasts  think  all  is  safe  because  they 
head  right,  —  not  mindful  that  the  surest  way  of  reaching 
port  is  by  following  the  channel,  and  not  by  going  straight 
across  the  sandbanks  and  the  breakers. 

He  who  carries  his  bricks  to  the  building  of  every  one's 
house,  will  never  build  one  for  himself. 

When  looking  for  anything  lost,  begin  by  looking  where 
you  think  it  is  not. 

Many  critics  are  like  woodpeckers,  who,  instead  of  en 
joying  the  fruit  and  shadow  of  a  tree,  hop  incessantly 
around  the  trunk,  pecking  holes  in  the  bark  to  discover 
some  little  worm  or  other. 


TABLE-TALK.  373 

All  authors  have  some  very  judicious  friends,  who  are 
fearful  they  will  get  more  than  their  due ;  and  when  they 
see  the  measure  of  applause  heaped  and  running  over, 
dexterously  sweep  it  down  to  a  level. 

There  are  conversations  which  make  us  suddenly  old, 
or  rather,  by  which  we  discover  ourselves  to  have  moved 
onward,  far  onward.  Where  we  played  in  sunshine,  we 
sit  in  shadow.  There  are  revelations  made  in  moments  of 
intimacy  which  show  us  how  great  the  changes  of  life  are, 
—  flashes  of  lightning  revealing  to  careless  travellers  the 
precipice  upon  whose  brink  they  stand. 

Velocity  and  weight  make  the  momentum  of  mind  as 
well  as  of  matter.  Velocity  without  weight  is  a  melan 
choly  condition  of  the  human  brain. 

Sometimes  a  single  felicitous  expression  or  line  in  a 
poem  saves  it  from  oblivion.  There  are  other  poems  in 
which  no  individual  lines  or  passages  predominate.  Like 
Wagner's  music,  they  are  equally  sustained  throughout, 
and  depend  for  their  effect  upon  their  impression  as  a 
whole,  and  not  on  particular  parts.  Which  of  these  kinds 
is  the  better  is  a  question  that  should  neither  be  asked 
nor  answered.  Each  is  good  in  its  way.  We  should  be 
thankful  for  both. 

Perseverance  is  a  great  element  of  success.  If  you  only 
knock  long  enough  and  loud  enough  at  the  gate,  you  are 
sure  to  wake  up  somebody. 

There  are  but  few  thinkers  in  the  world,  but  a  great 
many  people  who  think  they  think. 

A  great  part  of  the  happiness  of  life  consists  not  in 
fighting  battles,  but  in  avoiding  them.  A  masterly  retreat 
is  in  itself  a  victory. 


374  TABLE-TALK. 

A  young  critic  is  like  a  boy  with  a  gun ;  he  fires  at 
every  living  thing  he  sees.  He  thinks  only  of  his  own 
skill,  not  of  the  pain  he  is  giving. 

Amusements  are  like  specie-payments.  We  do  not 
much  care  for  them,  if  we  know  that  we  can  have  them  ; 
but  we  like  to  know  they  may  be  had. 

In  old  age  our  bodies  are  worn-out  instruments,  on 
which  the  soul  tries  in  vain  to  play  the  melodies  of  youth. 
But  because  the  instrument  has  lost  its  strings,  or  is  out 
of  tune,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  musician  has  lost  his 
skill. 

Truths  that  startled  the  generation  in  which  they  were 
first  announced  become  in  the  next  age  the  commonplaces 
of  conversation ;  as  the  famous  airs  of  operas  which  thrilled 
the  first  audiences  come  to  be  played  on  hand-organs  in 
the  streets. 

In  the  intellectual  world,  as  in  the  physical,  the  rays 
that  give  light  are  not  those  that  give  heat. 

Our  "  friends  "  are  oftener  those  who  seek  us,  than  those 
whom  we  seek. 

Love  makes  its  record  upon  our  hearts  in  deeper  and 
deeper  colors  as  we  grow  out  of  childhood  into  manhood ; 
as  the  Emperors  signed  their  names  in  green  ink  when 
under  age,  but  when  of  age,  in  purple. 

Shall  there  be  no  repose  in  literature  ?  Shall  every 
author  be  like  a  gladiator  with  swollen  veins  and  distended 
nostrils,  as  if  each  encounter  was  for  life  or  death  ? 

The  spring  came  suddenly,  bursting  upon  the  world  as 
a  child  bursts  into  a  room,  with  a  laugh  and  a  shout  and 
hands  full  of  flowers. 


TABLE-TALK.  375 

The  years  come  when  the  mind,  like  an  old  mill,  ceases 
to  grind ;  when  weeds  grow  on  the  wall ;  and  through 
every  crack  and  leak  in  dam  and  sluice,  spouts  the  useless 
water. 

Do  the  white  marbles  in  churchyards  mean  that  the 
day  of  death  has  been  marked  by  a  white  stone  ? 

So  innate  and  strong  is  the  love  of  liberty  in  all  human 
hearts  that,  even  against  our  better  judgment,  we  instinc 
tively  sympathize  with  criminals  escaping  from  prison. 

The  utility  of  many  useful  things  is  not  at  first  very 
manifest, — as  poetry,  for  instance.  Yet  its  uses  are  as 
many  and  as  sweet  as  those  of  adversity.  When  the  first 
kettle  boiled,  who  imagined  the  manifold  uses  of  steam  ? 

There  are  people  in  the  world  whom  we  like  well 
enough  when  we  are  with  them,  but  whom  we  never  miss 
when  they  are  gone.  There  are  others  whose  absence  is  a 
positive  pain.  There  are  people  whose  society  we  enjoy 
for  an  hour,  and  never  care  to  see  again ;  others  who  can 
not  come  too  often,  nor  stay  too  long. 

The  happy  should  not  insist  too  much  upon  their  hap 
piness  in  the  presence  of  the  unhappy. 

After  all  definitions  and  descriptions,  there  remains  in 
every  book  a  certain  something  which  defies  analysis,  and 
is  to  it  what  expression  is  to  the  human  face,  —  the  best 
part  of  it,  which  cannot  be  given  by  words. 

Ferber,  in  his  Travels  through  Italy,  has  observed  that 
"  the  stones  employed  in  buildings,  decorations,  and  pav 
ings  are  hints  of  the  nature  of  the  neighboring  hills  and 
quarries."  So  an  author's  style,  language,  and  illustrations 
are  hints  of  his  surroundings,  his  favorite  pursuits  and 
studies. 


376  TABLE-TALK. 

Every  man  is  in  some  sort  a  failure  to  himself.  No 
one  ever  reaches  the  heights  to  which  he  aspires. 

In  childhood  all  unaccustomed  things  fascinate  us ;  but 
there  comes  a  period  in  our  lives  when  the  unusual  is  dis 
agreeable  and  burdensome. 

The  imagination  walks  bravest,  not  in  clouds,  but  on 
the  firm  green  earth.  It  conquers  worlds  by  the  sinewy 
arms  of  thoughts  that  have  been  trained  by  sage  reason 
and  common-sense,  —  as  Alexander  conquered  Asia  with 
troops  which  his  father  Philip  had  disciplined. 

Every  village  has  its  great  man,  who  represents  nobil 
ity,  who  walks  down  the  village  street  with  a  cane,  and 
stands  very  erect  as  the  stage-coach  or  the  train  passes, 
and  thinks  the  passengers  are  all  looking  at  him  and  say 
ing  to  themselves,  "  Who  can  that  remarkable-looking  man 
be  ?  Surely  there  must  be  good  society  in  this  place  !  " 

Nothing  is  more  dangerous  to  an  author  than  sudden 
success.  The  patience  of  genius  is  one  of  its  most  pre 
cious  attributes. 

"  It  is  not  enough  to  be  a  great  man,"  says  the  French 
proverb,  "  but  you  must  come  at  the  right  time."  This 
is  particularly  true  of  authors. 

Every  author  has  the  whole  past  to  contend  with ;  all 
the  centuries  are  upon  him.  He  is  compared  with  Homer, 
Dante,  Shakespeare,  Milton. 

Fame  grows  like  a  tree  if  it  have  the  principle  of  growth 
in  it ;  the  accumulated  dews  of  ages  freshen  its  leaves. 

It  is  a  great  mystery  to  many  people  that  an  author 
should  reveal  to  the  public  secrets  that  he  shrinks  from 
telling  to  his  most  intimate  friends. 


TABLE-TALK.  377 

Youth  wrenches  the  sceptre  from  old  age,  and  sets  the 
crown  on  its  own  head  before  it  is  entitled  to  it. 

Signs  of  old  age  are, — a  tendency  to  cross  your  hands 
on  the  top  of  a  cane;  a  tendency  to  pick  up  pins  from 
the  carpet ;  a  tendency  in  your  hat  to  corne  down  on  the 
back  of  your  head;  a  disposition  to  sit  still.  When  a 
young  man  sees  a  mountain  he  says :  "  Let  us  climb  it." 
The  old  man  says :  "  Let  us  stay  down  here." 

A  disposition  to  wear  old  clothes  is  one  of  the  signs  of 
old  age. 

Old  men  should  not  climb  ladders,  even  in  their  libra 
ries.  The  Marques  de  Morante,  a  famous  book-collector 
of  Spain,  was  killed  by  a  fall  from  a  ladder  in  his  library. 

The  sentence  of  the  first  murderer  was  pronounced  by 
the  Supreme  Judge  of  the  universe.  Was  it  death  ?  No, 
it  was  life.  "A  fugitive  and  a  vagabond  shalt  thou  be  in 
the  earth  ;"  and  "Whosoever  slayeth  Cain,  vengeance  shall 
be  taken  on  him  sevenfold." 

Some  sorrows  are  but  footprints  in  the  snow,  which  the 
genial  sun  effaces,  or,  if  it  does  not  wholly  efface,  changes 
into  dimples. 

More  and  more  do  I  feel,  as  I  advance  in  life,  how  little 
we  really  know  of  each  other.  Friendship  seems  to  me 
like  the  touch  of  musical-glasses,  —  it  is  only  contact ; 
but  the  glasses  themselves,  and  their  contents,  remain  quite 
distinct  and  unmingled. 

If  a  woman  shows  too  often  the  Medusa's  head,  she 
must  not  be  astonished  if  her  lover  is  turned  into  stone. 

Unmarried  men  are  not  columns,  only  pilasters,  or  half- 
columns. 


378  TABLE-TALK. 

As  oaks  shoot  up  where  pine-woods  have  been  burned, 
so  great  resolves  spring  up  when  youthful  passions  have 
burned  out,  or  where  the  ceasing  of  overshadowing  cares  lets 
in  the  sunshine  upon  the  buried  seed. 

How  sudden  and  sweet  are  the  visitations  of  our  hap 
piest  thoughts ;  what  delightful  surprises  !  In  the  midst 
of  life's  most  trivial  occupations,  —  as  we  are  reading  a 
newspaper,  or  lighting  our  bed-candle,  or  waiting  for  our 
horses  to  drive  round,  —  the  lovely  face  appears ;  and 
thoughts  more  precious  than  gold  are  whispered  in  our 
ear. 

Some  poets  ought  to  be  punished  by  the  laws  of  the 
land  for  the  contamination  of  their  verses,  —  as  Pheres, 
son  of  Medea,  was  stoned  to  death  by  the  Corinthians  for 
giving  poisonous  clothes  to  Creon's  daughter. 

Those  poets  who  make  vice  beautiful  with  the  beauty 
of  their  song  are  like  the  Byzantine  artists  who  painted 
the  Devil  with  a  nimbus. 

Each  day  is  a  branch  of  the  Tree  of  Life  laden  heavily 
with  fruit.  If  we  lie  down  lazily  beneath  it,  we  may 
starve;  but  if  we  shake  the  branches,  some  of  the  fruit 
will  fall  for  us. 

When  an  author  is  entering  the  dreary  confines  of  old 
age,  and  the  critics  begin  to  cry,  "  Go  up,  bald  head  ! "  it  is 
not  strange  that  he  should  want  to  let  the  bears  loose 
upon  them. 

The  highest  exercise  of  imagination  is  not  to  devise  what 
has  no  existence,  but  rather  to  perceive  what  really  exists, 
though  unseen  by  the  outward  eye,  —  not  creation,  but 
insight. 


TABLE-TALK.  379 

Genius  is  all-embracing.  When  at  full  speed  on  its 
winged  courser,  like  the  wild  Arab,  it  stoops  to  pick  up  a 
pebble. 

Style  is  the  gait  of  the  mind,  and  is  as  much  a  part  of  a 
man  as  his  bodily  gait  is. 

Silence  is  a  great  peacemaker. 

Some  poems  are  like  the  Centaurs,  —  a  mingling  of 
man  and  beast,  and  begotten  of  Ixion  on  a  cloud. 

The  difference  between  a  man  of  genius  seen  in  his 
works  and  in  person,  is  like  that  of  a  lighthouse  seen  by 
night  and  by  day,  —  in  the  one  case  only  a  great  fiery 
brain,  in  the  other  only  a  white  tower. 

There  are  no  critics  who  resemble  the  old  Florentine 
judge,  Lotto  degli  Agli ;  for  he  hung  himself  in  despair  for 
having  pronounced  an  unjust  sentence. 

"  Be  it  known  to  each  one,"  says  Dante  in  his  Convito, 
\.  1,  "  that  nothing  harmonized  by  a  musical  bond  can  be 
transferred  from  its  native  language  into  another  without 
breaking  all  its  sweetness  and  harmony."  Of  the  same 
opinion  was  Cervantes,  when  he  makes  the  Curate  say  of 
the  Spanish  translator  of  Ariosto :  "  He  took  from  him 
much  of  his  natural  value ;  and  all  will  do  the  like  who 
endeavor  to  translate  books  of  verse  into  another  language  : 
for  however  great  the  care  taken  and  the  ability  displayed, 
they  will  never  reach  the  point  they  have  in  their  first 
birth."  —  Don  Quixote,  i.  6. 

The  difficulty  of  translation  lies  chiefly  in  the  color  of 
words.  Is  the  Italian  "  ruscelletto  gorgoglioso "  fully 
rendered  by  "gurgling  brooklet"?  Or  the  Spanish 
"  ptijaros  vocingleros"  by  "garrulous  birds"?  Some 
thing  seems  wanting.  Perhaps  it  is  only  the  fascina- 


380  TABLE-TALK. 

tiou  of  foreign  and  unfamiliar  sounds ;  and  to  the  Italian 
or  Spanish  ear  the  English  words  may  seem  equally 
beautiful. 

Translating  the  first  line  in  the  Divine  Comedy  is  like 
making  the  first  move  in  a  game  of  chess ;  nearly  every 
one  does  it  in  the  same  way. 

The  business  of  a  translator  is  to  report  what  his  author 
says,  not  to  explain  what  he  means ;  that  is  the  work  of 
the  commentator.  What  an  author  says  and  how  he  says 
it,  —  that  is  the  problem  of  the  translator. 

We  know  that  we  are  old  before  we  feel  it.  The  lan 
guage  of  those  around  us  betrays  to  us  the  secret.  Life  is 
a  landscape  without  hedge  or  fence.  We  pass  from  one 
field  to  another,  and  see  no  boundary-line. 

When  I  recall  my  juvenile  poems  and  prose  sketches, 
I  wish  sometimes  that  they  were  forgotten  entirely. 
They  however  cling  to  one's  skirts  with  a  terrible  grasp. 
They  remind  me  of  the  "  plusieurs  enfants  "  in  M.  de  Pour- 
ceaugnac,  clinging  to  him  in  the  street  and  crying,  "  Ah ! 
mon  papa !  mon  papa !  mon  papa  !  " 

The  breath  of  an  audience  is  very  apt  to  blow  one's 
thoughts  quite  away,  as  a  gust  through  an  open  window 
does  the  loose  papers  on  a  table. 

How  often  it  happens  that  after  we  know  a  man  per 
sonally,  we  cease  to  read  his  writings.  Is  it  that  we 
exhaust  him  by  a  look  ?  Is  it  that  his  personality  gives 
us  all  of  him  that  we  desire  ? 

A  story  or  a  poem  should  be  neither  too  short  nor  too 
long ;  it  should  be  enough  to  satisfy,  but  -not  enough  to 
satiate.  I  have  always  aimed  to  have  my  books  small. 


TABLE-TALK.  381 

A  volume  of  poems  ought  never  to  be  large.  Eeal 
estate  on  Mount  Parnassus  should  be  sold  by  the  foot, 
not  by  the  acre. 

There  are  many  landscapes  which  fascinate  us  at  first 
sight,  and  suggest  a  long  stay,  a  lifelong  sojourn ;  causing 
us  to  say,  "  It  is  good  for  us  to  be  here  ;  let  us  build." 

I  have  always  looked  upon  the  writing  of  autobiog 
raphy  as  a  harmless  occupation,  and  have  never  felt  that 
it  implied  any  excess  of  self-conceit  in  the  writer.  In 
the  lives  of  most  men  there  are  many  things  which,  if 
truthfully  stated,  partake  of  the  nature  of  confessions,  and 
tend  rather  to  mortify  than  to  flatter  their  self-conceit. 

When  we  walk  towards  the  sun  of  Truth,  all  shadows 
are  cast  behind  us. 

I  have  many  opinions  in  Art  and  Literature  which  con 
stantly  recur  to  me  in  the  tender  guise  of  a  sentiment.  A 
clever  dialectician  can  prove  to  me  that  I  am  wrong.  I 
cannot  answer  him.  I  let  the  waves  of  argument  roll  on ; 
but  all  the  lilies  rise  again,  and  are  beautiful  as  before. 

Rather  cheerless  is  the  aspect  of  our  early  history.  The 
stern  old  puritanical  character  rises  above  the  common 
level  of  life ;  it  has  a  breezy  air  about  its  summits,  but 
they  are  bleak  and  forbidding. 

In  youth  all  doors  open  outward ;  in  old  age  they  all 
open  inward. 

The  Americans  are  not  thrifty,  but  spendthrifty. 

A  great  sorrow,  like  a  mariner's  quadrant,  brings  the 
sun  at  noon  down  to  the  horizon,  and  we  learn  where  we 
are  on  the  sea  of  life. 


382  TABLE-TALK. 

Each  new  epoch  of  life  seems  an  encounter.  There  is 
a  tussle  and  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  we  come  out  of  it 
triumphant  or  crest-fallen,  according  as  we  have  borne 
ourselves. 

The  mission  of  some  people  on  earth  is  not  that  of  the 
sunshine,  but  of  the  twilight,  —  the  twilight,  with  its 
reveries,  its  reflections,  its  ghosts. 

What  discord  should  we  bring  into  the  universe  if  our 
prayers  were  all  answered!  Then  we  should  govern  the 
world,  and  not  God.  And  do  you  think  we  should  govern 
it  better  ?  It  gives  me  only  pain  when  I  hear  the  long, 
wearisome  petitions  of  men  asking  for  they  know  not 
what.  As  frightened  women  clutch  at  the  reins  when 
there  is  danger,  so  do  we  grasp  at  God's  government 
with  our  prayers.  Thanksgiving  with  a  full  heart, — and 
the  rest  silence  and  submission  to  the  Divine  will ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FRAGMENTS  OF   VERSE. 

IN  this  chapter  are  gathered  some  unpublished 
bits  of  verse  and  a  few  translations  from  the  Greek 
Anthology,  etc. 

GREAT  AND  SMALL. 

The  Power  that  built  the  starry  dome  on  high, 
And  groined  the  vaulted  rafters  of  the  sky, 
Teaches  the  linnet  with  unconscious  breast 
To  round  the  inverted  heaven  of  her  nest. 
To  that  mysterious  Power  which  governs  all, 
Is  neither  high  nor  low,  nor  great  nor  small. 

THOUGHT  AND  SPEECH. 

Sudden  from  out  the  cannon's  brazen  lips 

The  level  smoke  runs  shining  in  the  sun, 

While  the  invisible  and  silent  ball 

Outruns  it  in  its  speed,  and  does  its  work 

Unseen  and  far  away.     So  from  the  sound 

And  smoke  of  human  speech  the  thought  runs  forward, 

Doing  its  work  unseen  and  far  away. 

REFORMERS. 

Something  must  be  forgiven  to  great  Reformers,  — 
The  prophets  of  a  fair  new-world  to  be. 
They  cannot  see  the  glory  of  the  Past, 
As  men  who  walk  with  faces  to  the  East 
See  not  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun. 


384         FRAGMENTS  OP  VERSE. 

EGYPT. 

I  see  it  in  a  vision,  in  the  dark,  — 

The  river,  the  great  river,  flowing,  flowing 

Forever  through  the  shadowless,  white  land. 

Upon  its  banks  the  gods  of  Abou  Simbel 

Sit  patient,  with  their  hands  upon  their  knees, 

And  listen  to  the  voice  of  cataracts, 

And  seem  to  say :  "  Why  hurry  with  such  speed  ? 

Eternity  is  long ;  the  gods  can  wait ; 

Wait,  wait  like  us  !  "     Along  the  river  shores 

The  red  flamingoes  stand ;  and  over  them 

Against  the  sky  dark  caravans  of  camels 

Pass  underneath  the  palm-trees,  and  are  gone. 

LEAVES. 

Red  leaves  !  dead  leaves  !  that  from  the  forest-trees, 
Cradled  in  air  a  moment,  fall  and  die, 

Or  float  upon  the  surface  of  a  brook,  — 
0  Songs  of  mine  !  what  are  ye  more  than  these  ? 
What  are  ye  more  than  Autumn  leaves  that  lie 
Gathered  and  pressed  together  in  a  book  ? 

QUATRAIN. 

Why  waste  the  hours  in  idle  talk, 

When  life  is  short,  and  time  is  flying  ? 

Why  interrupt  my  work  or  walk, 

Since  while  we  're  living,  we  are  dying  ? 


TWELFTH-NIGHT.1 

LAST  night  this  room  was  full  of  sport, 

For  here,  amid  her  train  advancing, 
The  Queen  of  Twelfth-Night  held  her  court, 

With  music,  merriment,  and  dancing. 

1  In  his  Journal,  March.  6,  1857,  Mr.  Longfellow  speaks  of  "a 
Twelfth-Night  party  for  H.  and  her  schoolmates,  —  a  sleigh  full  of 


FRAGMENTS  OF  VERSE.  385 

Upon  this  Spanish  convent  chair 

The  lovely  maiden  queen  was  seated ; 

A  crown  of  flowers  was  in  her  hair, 

And  kneeling  youths  their  sovereign  greeted. 

The  busts  of  Grecian  bards  sublime 
Smiled  from  their  antique  oaken  cases, 

As  if  they  saw  renewed  the  time 
Of  all  the  Muses  and  the  Graces. 

And  the  old  Poets  on  their  shelves, 

Awaking  from  their  dusty  slumbers, 
Recalled  what  they  had  sung  themselves 

Of  Youth  and  Beauty  in  their  numbers. 

And  round  the  merry  dancers  whirled 

Beneath  the  evergreens  and  holly,  — 
A  world  of  youth,  a  happy  world, 

That  banished  care  and  melancholy. 

Now  all  is  changed  ;  the  guests  have  fled, 
The  joyous  guests,  the  merry-hearted. 

Ah,  me  !  the  room  itself  seems  dead, 
Since  so  much  youth  and  life  departed  ! 


FROM  THE  ANTHOLOGY. 

III.  100. 

Here  Dionysius  of  Tarsus,  the  Sexagenarian,  lieth  ; 

He  never  married  a  wife,  —  would  that  my  father  had 
not! 

schoolgirls,  and  young  men  from  college.  The  evening  passed 
pleasantly  with  dances,  and  rings  in  the  cake,  and  king  and  queen." 
The  party  was  given  in  the  library  of  Craigie  House,  which  is  de 
scribed  in  the  verses  above. 

25 


386  FRAGMENTS  OF  VERSE. 

IV.   150. 

Eros,  beholding  the  bolts  of  the  thunder,  broke  them  in 

pieces ; 
Showing  that  Love  is  a  fire,  stronger  than  fire  itself. 

FROM  PLATO. 

Lookest  thou  at  the  stars,   0   Stella?    Were  I  but  the 

heaven, 
With  all  the  eyes  of  heaven  would  I  look  down  upon  thee. 

FROM  PLATO. 

Thou  as  the  morning  star  among  the  living  resplendent. 
Dead  among  the  dead,  shinest  as  Hesperus  now. 

FROM  SAPPHO. 

Over  the  grave  of  Pelagon  the  fisher,  his  father  Meniscos 
Hung  his  net  and  his  oar,  —  signs  of  his  wearisome  life. 


FROM 


Take,  0  friendly  Earth,  old  Amintikos  into  thy  bosom, 

Mindful  of  all  the  fatigue  that  he  hath  suffered  for  thee  ; 
For  he  hath  cultured  for  thee  unceasing  the  trunks  of  the 

olive, 

And  with  Bromius'  vines  hath  he  embellished  thee  oft. 
Clothed  thee  hath  he  with  grain,  and  digging  channels  for 

water, 
Made  thee  fit  for  the  plough,  made  thee  the  bearer  of 

fruits. 
Therefore,  for  what  he  hath  done  for  thee,  do  thou  too, 

benignant, 
Cover  his  hoary  head ;  blossom  with  flowers  of  spring. 

FROM  CALLIMACHUS. 

Here  in  a  holy  sleep  the  son  of  Akauthian  Dicon, 
Saon,  slumbers  in  peace  ;  say  not  the  good  ever  die. 


FRAGMENTS  OF  VERSE.         387 

ARABIC  PROVERBS. 

Not  the  stream  that  has  passed,  but  only  that  which  is  pass 
ing, 

Turns  the  wheel  of  the  mill,  grinds  for  the  miller  his 
corn. 

If  thy  friend  is  of  honey,  thou  should'st  not  wholly  devour 
him. 

Many  things  bitter  as  gall  in  this  bitter  life  I  have  tasted ; 
But  the  most  bitter  of  all  is  of  a  miser  to  beg. 

Studious  age  at  best  but  writes  on  the  sand  of  the  desert; 
But  a  studious  youth  carves  his  inscription  on  stone. 

When  a  word  has  been  uttered,  it  straightway  becometh  thy 

master ; 
While  it  unspoken  remains,  thou  art  the  master  of  it. 

If  in  this  life  thou  must  serve  as  an  anvil,  endure  and  be 

patient ; 
If  the  hammer  thou  art,  strong  be  thy  blows  and  direct. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

BELATED  LETTERS. 

THE  four  letters  which  immediately  follow 
have  come  to  hand  too  late  to  be  inserted  under 
their  proper  dates ;  but  the  reader  may  be  glad 
not  to  lose  them.  Advantage  is  taken  of  the 
opportunity  to  add  a  dozen  others  which  had 
been  overlooked. 

To  0.  W.  Holmes. 

November  28,  1848. 

I  had  half  a  mind  yesterday,  when  I  received  your  vol 
ume,  to  practise  upon  you  the  old  General  Washington 
dodge  —  pardon  the  irreverential  word  —  of  thanking  the 
donor  before  reading  the  book.  But,  unluckily  for  my 
plot,  I  happened  to  get  my  finger  between  the  leaves,  as 
Mr.  Alworthy  got  his  into  the  hand  of  Tom  Jones,  and 
felt  the  warm,  soft  pressure ;  and  it  was  all  over  with  me. 
My  wife,  coming  in  at  this  juncture  of  affairs,  was  in  like 
manner  caught ;  and  we  sat  and  read  all  the  afternoon,  till 
we  had  gone  over  all  the  new,  and  most  of  the  old,  which 
is  as  good  as  new,  and  finally  drained  "  the  punch-bowl " 
between  us,  and  shared  the  glass  of  cold  water  which 
serves  as  cul-de-lampe  to  the  volume,  and  said,  "  It  is 
divine ! " 


BELATED  LETTERS.  389 

Take  thy  place,  0  poet,  among  the  truest,  the  wittiest, 
the  tenderest,  among  the 

"  bards  that  sung 
Divine  ideas  below, 
That  always  find  us  young, 
And  always  keep  us  so." 

This  is  the  desire  and  prophecy  of  your  friend. 

To  0.  W.  Holmes. 

October  28,  1850. 

I  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your  Poem,  which  I 
have  read  with  great  pleasure,  and  with  that  tingling 
along  the  veins  which  is  the  sure  indication  of  poetic 
electricity  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  book.  Whenever  you 
fly  a  look  you  bring  it  down,  as  Franklin  did  when  flying 
his  kite.  It  is  lightning  from  the  air,  and  not  galvanism 
from  earthly  acids. 

Do  you  know,  I  see  the  Pittsfield  farm  in  your  book, — 
not  exactly  "  hay  in  your  hair,"  but  buckwheat  in  your 
laurels,  which  I  much  delight  to  see.  These  blossoms 
from  the  roadside  and  odor  of  pennyroyal  give  a  freshness 
to  poerns  which  nothing  else  will.  I  hope  one  day  to 
turn  a  portion  of  the  Housatonic  —  what  runs  over  your 
dam  above  —  on  to  my  mill-wheels.  But  "  when  the  ques 
tion  is  made  by  quando,  time  is  put  in  the  ablative ;  as, 
venit  hard  tertid" 

At  all  hours,  however,  yours  truly  and  faithfully. 

To  0.  W.  Holmes. 

April  23,  1852. 

Before  receiving  your  note  I  had  already  returned  the 
inexorable  No  to  the  song  of  the  Albanian  sirens.  In  all 
such  cases  I  resolutely  lash  myself  to  the  mast,  shut  my 


390  BELATED  LETTERS. 

eyes  and  ears ;  and  I  have  thus  far  escaped  being  turned 
into  a  —  critic.  This  time,  however,  if  I  had  been  going 
for  the  summer  to  Berkshire  instead  of  Newport,  I  think 
I  should  have  accepted,  for  the  sake  of  working  with  you. 
But  on  the  Separate  System  and  in  the  solitary  cell,  I 
see  no  promise  of  pleasure  in  the  task. 

To  0.  W.  Holmes. 

December  6,  1875. 

Credo  quia  impossibile  est.  We  take  our  feeble  vision 
for  the  gauge  of  Nature.  What  we  see,  we  believe ;  what 
we  do  not  see,  we  doubt :  and  how  foolish  we  are  !  I  will 
never  hereafter  doubt  the  impossible  possibilities  of  the 
unseen.  These  revelations  of  the  microscope  are  perfectly 
astounding.  Some  day  you  must  show  them  to  me. 

Ah  !  my  dear  Doctor,  if  you  would  only  apply  these 
lenses  to  the  materia  medica,  perhaps  the  microscopic  dose 
might  be  magnified  into  some  importance  in  your  eyes. 
Secrets  of  Nature  discovered  in  one  direction  suggest 
secrets  discoverable  in  all  directions. 

With  all  my  absurd  credulities  and  incredulities, 

Always  affectionately  yours. 


From  Henry  Taylor.1 

COLONIAL  OFFICE,  LONDON,  December  31,  1851. 
gIR>  —  I  have  been  much  nattered  and  obliged  by  your 
kindness  in  sending  me  the  Golden  Legend ;  and  I  should 
have  said  so  before,  had  I  not  wished  to  read  it  more  than 
once  before  I  wrote  to  you  about  it.  I  read  it  as  soon  as 
I  received  it ;  but  I  have  since  lent  it  to  Alfred  Tennyson, 
which  has  prevented  me  from  returning  to  it.  My  first 

1  Author  of  Philip  van  Artevelde,  etc. 


BELATED  LETTERS.  391 

impression  —  and  I  think  I  may  trust  to  it  —  was  one  of 
very  great  pleasure  and  admiration  ;  and  it  appeared  to 
me  that  I  had  never  read  a  poem  in  which  our  language 
was  treated  with  more  force  and  ease,  more  poetic  feel 
ing  and  rhythmic  effect.  If  you  should  see  Mr.  Ever 
ett  or  Mr.  Ticknor,  will  you  remember  me  to  them  very 
kindly. 

Believe  me  yours  very  faithfully, 

H.  TAYLOR. 

To  Nathaniel  Haivthorne. 

September  21,  1852.. 

I  write  you  this  "  Scarlet  Letter  " J  in  order  to  present 
two  readers  and  admirers  of  your  books,  Mr.  Bright,  of 
Liverpool,  and  Mr.  Burder,  of  London,  who  go  to  Concord 
expressly  to  see  you  and  Emerson. 

Dr.  Morse,  in  his  Gazetteer,  speaking  of  Albany,  says  it 
"  contains  six  hundred  houses  and  ten  thousand  inhabi 
tants  ; ''  then  adds,  "  they  all  stand  with  their  gable-ends 
to  the  street,  —  a  custom  they  brought  with  them  from 
Holland." 

Now  your  fame  stands  with  "Seven  Gables"  to  the 
street ;  and  in  one  of  these  I  am  sure  my  young  friends 
from  England  will  find  a  door  and  a  welcome.2 

From  B.  W.  Procter? 

LONDON,  July  17,  1853. 

DEAR  MR.  LONGFELLOW,  —  Your  letters  are  always  wel 
come  to  me ;  I  wish  I  could  repay  you  in  a  just  measure. 
But,  alas  !  my  news  would  be  almost  all  from  the  public 
prints,  —  which  detail  it  much  better  than  I  should  do,  — 

1  A  stationer's  stamp  in  red  was  in  the  corner  of  the  sheet. 

2  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  was  published  in  1851. 
8  Barry  Cornwall. 


392  BELATED  LETTERS. 

and  I  have  no  adventures.  I  wish  that  I  dared  attack  a 
windmill  for  you,  —  but  they  are  too  strong  for  me  (when 
the  wind  is  nor'-nor'west) ;  or  a  dragon,  —  but  they  are 
extinct. 

When  I  received  your  letter  I  was  unwell,  and  just 
about  to  leave  London  on  one  of  my  circuits.  I  had 
barely  time  to  scribble  a  melancholy  acknowledgment  of 
having  received  some  books  from  our  friend  Fields  before 
I  set  steam  for  Leicestershire,  —  a  great  hunting-ground, 
where  nobody  hunts  at  present  (not  even  the  pale-faces), 
and  where  a  lecture  on  our  Low  Church  by  the  Reverend 
Dr.  C.  appears  to  be  the  only  evening's  recreation.  You 
may  guess  with  what  a  refreshment  of  the  intellect  I 
have  returned  to  London. 

You  who  are  safe  from  all  European  mishaps  will  care 
but  little,  I  suppose,  for  the  great  Euss  and  Turk  ques 
tion  which  shakes  our  stocks  in  the  Old  World,  and 
excites  our  apprehensions  a  little  also.  I  wish  we  could 
"  hear  the  excluded  tempest  idly  rave ; "  but  we  are 
mixed  up  in  the  great  game  which  is  playing  on  our 
side  of  the  globe,  —  a  game  in  which  we  often  conquer, 
but  never  win. 

Let  us  turn  our  minds  to  books. 

You  will  have  heard  that  Thackeray  is  about  to  publish 
a  new  "serial,"  as  our  critics  call  it,  and  that  the  first 
number  will  probably  come  out  in  October.  He  is  gone 
travelling  on  the  Continent  with  his  children  for  a  while, 
so  that  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of  inquiring  as  to  its 
nature.  It  will  be  a  web  of  the  usual  chequered  pattern, 
I  suppose.  The  Life  of  Haydon,  the  painter,  just  out,  is 
well  worth  a  perusal.  As  a  study  of  character,  it  is  the 
best  he  ever  painted.  I  knew  Haydon,  who  was  of  the 
composite  order.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  real  enthusiasm, 
inordinate  vanity,  envy  and  hatred  of  rivals,  good-nature 
for  those  below  him.  An  unscrupulous  borrower,  a  bor- 


BELATED  LETTERS.  393 

rower  without  the  chance  of  repayment,  but  devoting  all 
his  gains  to  his  wife  and  children ;  a  stormy  advocate  for 
the  advancement  of  art  in  general,  but  always  with  an 
eye  to  his  own  interest.  He  exhibited  for  years  an  un 
conquerable  energy  —  amidst  difficulties  and  distresses 
that  would  have  driven  mad  ninety-nine  men  out  of  a 
hundred  —  which  cannot  be  contemplated  without  some 
admiration.  His  troubles  of  all  sorts,  almost  daily,  with 
the  sheriffs  officer  in  one  room  (he  makes  a  study  of 
the  man's  arm  while  in  possession),  and  the  butcher  and 
baker  clamoring  for  payment  in  another,  depress  me  as  I 
read  of  them. 

We  have  nothing  new  in  poetry  lately.  A  book  by  a 
young  man  of  the  name  of  Alexander  Smith  seems  to  con 
tain  some  very  good  bits  ;  but  one  of  our  critics  says  that 
there  is  no  continuous  power  in  it,  and  that  it  is  full  of 
absurdities,  and  its  merits  fragmentary  only.  I  have  not 
read  it. 

Hawthorne  has  not  yet  arrived,  I  believe ; l  I  rejoiced  to 
find  that  so  good  an  appointment  had  fallen  to  his  lot. 
He  is  not  the  man  to  bruit  his  own  pretensions.  I  trust 
that  the  goddess  —  if  there  be  such  a  goddess  —  who  pro 
tects  modest  authors  will  advance  her  shield  before  him 
as  he  traverses  the  wilderness  toward  the  setting  sun. 
Fortunately  the  setting  sun  is,  for  him,  a  long  way  off. 
I  wish  that  I  were  not  so  near  him,  although  he  looks  all 
the  grander  as  I  come  near.  Considering  my  proximity 
to  this  luminary,  I  have  once  or  twice  thought  of  giving 
up  the  rhyming  trade ;  but  your  letters  encourage  me  to 
go  on.  You,  who  are  younger  and  more  popular,  are 
without  doubt  in  the  middle  of  your  next  epic.  I  shall 
listen  with  pleasure  to  your  long  strain,  although  I  may 
only  twitter  a  little  myself.  .  .  . 

1  To  take  the  Liverpool  consulship. 


394  BELATED  LETTERS. 

Farewell !  the  plumage  drops  from  off  my  wing; 

Life  and  its  humbler  tasks  henceforth  are  mine. 
The  lark  no  longer  down  from  heaven  may  bring 

That  music  which  in  youth  I  thought  divine. 
The  winds  are  mute  ;  the  river  dares  not  sing; 

Time  lifts  his  hand,  —  and  I  obey  the  sign ! 

I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  see  you.  I  have  la 
mented  very  often  that  I  missed  you  when  you  came  to 
the  old  country  [in  1842].  When  shall  you  come  again  ? 
I  have  told  Fields  repeatedly  that  as  soon  as  Americans 
build  a  bridge  over  that  great  herring-pond  which  lies 
between  us,  I  shall  come  and  beat  up  his  quarters  in 
America.  Believe  me  to  be  yours  ever  sincerely, 

B.  W.  PROCTER. 

From  T.  G.  Appleton. 

[Without  date.] 

DEAR  HENRY,  —  I  met  lately  Mr.  P.  at  my  publishers', 
and  he  told  me  of  a  new  book  of  his.  I  send  you  a  New 
York  review  of  it.  It  is  nice  to  see  these  fellows  ven 
ture  into  the  ink- stream  and  get  so  spattered.  The 
book  is  a  good  book,  too,  —  following  out  those  spider- 
threads  of  instinct  which  are  lost  in  the  sky,  and  not  too 
much  losing  hold  of  his  web.  I  dare  say  he  will  now, 

like  poor ,  go   into   retirement  among  the  incompris 

authors.  The  Duke  of  Somerset  has  a  nice  little  book 
which  I  have  got,  —  only  about  a  hundred  pages,  snug  arid 
compact,  and  modest  for  a  duke ;  also  about  the  eternal 
subject.  There  seems  great  soreness  in  the  world  at  the 
place  where  soul  and  body  dovetail.  An  expression  of 
Mr.  T.  Lyman  to  me,  years  ago :  "  The  bother  of  the 
Yankee,"  said  he,  "  is  that  he  rubs  badly  at  the  junction 
of  soul  and  body."  As  true  a  thing  as  was  ever  said  ; 
and  he  not  much  of  a  sayer  of  such  things.  Yours, 

T.  G.  APPLETON 


BELATED  LETTERS.  395 


To  Ernest  Longfellow. 

November  17,  1865. 

We  were  all  delighted  last  night  by  the  arrival  of  your 
interesting  letter  from  London  and  Paris.  It  is  pleasant 
to  know  that  you  are  seeing  and  enjoying  so  much.  Your 
account  of  the  Horse-Guardsman  is  very  comic,  and  that  of 
Carlyle  very  amusing.  .  .  .  Mr.  Greene  is  here,  and  takes 
great  interest  in  your  travels.  He  is  particularly  glad 
that  you  climbed  the  Cote  d'Angouville  at  Havre ;  and  so 
am  I.  The  view  repays  one  for  the  toil,  as  I  remember 
well.  We  are  now  in  the  midst  of  the  hottest  of  Indian 
summers.  I  only  hope  you  are  having  as  pleasant 
weather  amid  the  gardens  and  groves  in  the  environs  of 
Paris.  Is  it  not  a  splendid  city  ?  .  .  . 

There  is  nothing  new  here  in  the  old  house  except  a 
cuckoo-clock,  which  when  it  strikes  in  the  night  alarms 
the  household.  Mr.  Greene  started  up,  thinking  one  of 
the  children  had  the  croup.  It  is  very  droll.  The  Cam 
bridge  Assemblies  have  begun,  and  you  are  wanted.  To 
enliven  the  winter,  I  have  formed  a  Dante  Club,  consist 
ing  of  Lowell,  Norton,  and  myself,  meeting  here  every 
Wednesday  evening,  with  a  good  deal  of  talk  and  a  little 
supper.  So  we  try  to  get  along  without  you  and  your 
uncle ;  but  we  miss  you  nevertheless.  Trap  [the  Scotch 
terrier]  sends  his  regards.  His  last  misdemeanor  was 
stealing  a  partridge  from  the  supper-table  of  the  Club. 
That  was  his  view  of  the  Divine  Comedy !  Of  your  other 
friends  in  Cambridge  I  see  nothing.  Nobody  comes  to 
play  billiards.  Your  room  is  now  occupied  by  E.,  as  the 
office  of  The  Secret.1  On  the  door  is  "  No  Admittance." 

1  A  manuscript  monthly,  carried  on  by  the  little  girls  of  the 
family. 


396  BELATED  LETTERS. 

To  Ernest  Longfellow. 

January  17,  1866. 

In  Dante's  Paradiso,  canto  x.,  a  French  professor  is 
spoken  of  thus:  — 

"  This  is  the  light  eternal  of  Sigier, 
Who,  reading  lectures  in  the  Street  of  Straw, 
Did  syllogize  invidious  verities." 

The  "Street  of  Straw"  is  the  Rue  du  Fouarre,  near  the 
Place  Maubert,  and  got  its  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
students  used  to  sit  on  bundles  of  straw  at  their  lectures, 
or  because  it  was  a  hay-market,  or  probably  from  both.  I 
want  you  and  your  uncle  to  hunt  up  this  old  street  and 
tell  me  how  it  looks  now ;  I  want  something  to  make  a 
note  of.1  Look  up  also  the  Hotel  Carnavalet,  in  the  Eue 
Culture-St.  Catherine.  That  is  where  Mme.  de  Se'vigne' 
lived  and  wrote  her  famous  letters.  In  fine,  I  advise  you 
to  buy  a  book  called  Les  Hues  de  Paris,  by  Louis  Lurine. 
You  will  find  a  good  deal  of  curious  matter  and  curious 
illustration  in  it. 

It  would  be  rather,  difficult  to  say  what  books  I  should 
like,  not  having  a  peep  at  the  bookstalls.  But  I  will 
name  two,  —  Qudrard,  all  his  bibliographical  works ;  and 
Vapereau,  who  publishes  every  year  a  review  of  the  litera 
ture  of  the  previous  years.  These  you  may  get,  at  all 
events.  As  soon  as  the  first  flower  blooms  and  the  first 
bird  sings,  if  not  sooner,  you  will  no  doubt  break  up  your 
winter  quarters  and  move  southward  to  meet  the  spring. 
That  will  be  pleasant,  and  make  up  for  the  dull  weather 
of  Paris. 

I  have  kept  this  page  for  Cambridge  news,  and  none 
comes  to  hand.  Now  that  you  have  gone  away,  nothing 
happens ;  and  I  have  not  been  much  in  the  way  if  it  did. 

1  See  note  to  Paradise,  canto  x.,  line  137,  in  Mr.  Longfellow's 
translation. 


BELA.TED  LETTERS.  397 

I  send  you,  therefore,  now  and  then  a  newspaper ;  and  by 
to-day's  mail  the  Advertiser,  with  an  article  by  "Tom 
Brown"  (Mr.  Hughes),  on  American  affairs,  which  will 
interest  you,  as  he  makes  honorable  mention  of  Charles. 
C.  got  back  to-day  from  Montreal.  He  has  brought  home 
blanket-coats  and  moccasins  enough  to  furnish  a  small 
shop.  What  a  time  the  moths  will  have  next  summer ! 
I  have  just  stopped  to  do  a  deed  of  charity  for  you ; 
namely,  to  give  a  pair  of  your  shoes  to  a  handsome  Italian 
boy  who  came  here  barefoot  in  the  ice  and  snow.  He 
says  he  has  had  no  shoes  all  winter. 

To  H.  L  Bowditch,1 

March  23,  1866. 

.  .  .  The  poem  you  speak  of  was  not  a  record  of  any 
one  event  which  came  to  my  knowledge,  but  of  many 
which  came  to  my  imagination.  It  is  an  attempt  to  ex 
press  something  of  the  inexpressible  sympathy  which  I 
feel  for  the  death  of  the  young  men  in  the  war,  which 
makes  my  heart  bleed  whenever  I  think  of  it. 

How  much  I  have  felt  for  you  I  cannot  tell  you,  par 
ticularly  on  that  cold  December  night  when  I  came  back 
with  my  son,  and  saw  you  at  the  station  and  knew  that 
yours  would  come  back  to  you  no  more. 

Pardon  me  for  touching  that  wound;  it  is  only  that  I 
may  tell  you  how  deep  the  impression  is.  It  was  from 
such  impressions  that  the  poem  came  to  my  mind. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

February  7,  1867. 

I  fear  you  must  decide  the  matter  for  yourself;  no 
one  can  decide  for  you.  For  myself,  I  think  I  should  not 

1  In  answer  to  a  letter  from  him  asking  whether  the  poem  '  Killed 
at  the  Ford '  referred  to  any  particular  person. 


398  BELATED  LETTERS. 

send  the  letter.     Forbearance   brings  a  certain   comfort 
with  it.     Anything  like  vengeance  brings  dissatisfaction. 

You  have  been  harshly  treated.     is  in  the  wrong ; 

and  I  think  he  feels  it.     Wait ! 

I  have  been  working  very  hard  this  last  week,  and 
have  almost  re-written  the  New  England  Tragedy  in  verse. 
Only  two  or  three  scenes  remain.  It  is  greatly  improved, 
though  it  is  not  yet  what  I  mean  it  shall  be.  This  has 
absorbed  me  day  and  night,  and  put  me  into  better  spirits. 
Happy  the  man  who  has  something  to  do  —  and  does  it ! 

February  18. 

A  month  ago  I  felt  as  if  I  should  never  write  another 
line.  And  lo !  since  then  I  have  written  a  Tragedy,  and 
am  half  way  through  with  another.  That  is  the  reason  I 
have  not  written  you.  I  have  written  two  whole  scenes 
to-day ;  one  of  them  the  most  important  of  all. 

From  Victor  Hugo. 

HAUTE VILLE  HOUSE,  22  avril,  1867. 

MONSIEUR  ET  CHER  CONFRERE,  —  J'ai  recu  le  beau  livre 
que  vous  m'envoyez.  Vous  etes  un  des  hommes  qui  ho- 
norent  la  grande  Ame'rique.  Vous  donnez  la  poe'sie  a 
cette  terre  qui  a  la  liberte.  Je  vous  remercie,  et  je 
suis  heureux  de  serrer  dans  ma  vieille  main  fran^aise 
la  jeune  main  ame'ricaine. 

Croyez  a  ma  vive  cordialite", 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

NAHANT,  June  19,  1867. 

...  I  had  got  thus  far  when  Senator  Sumner  came  to 
dinner,  in  the  quiet  old  way.  After  dinner  we  went  to 
see  Palfrey,  and  then  loitered  through  the  College  grounds 


BELATED  LETTERS.  399 

and  looked  at  old  familiar  windows  painted  with  sunset 
and  memories  of  youth  ;  and  the  senator  moralized  there 
upon  and  sighed.  .  .  .  Come  for  a  day  or  two — next  week, 
say.  You  need  not  lose  much  time  by  the  movement,  and 
we  will  discuss  "  a  good  many  things  besides  the  Rhenish." 
I  am  reading  Walpole's  Letters.  The  clever  wag !  how 
pleasantly  he  writes,  though  rather  self-conscious  in 
style. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

N  AH  ANT,  September  4,  1867. 

I  have  this  morning  received  your  letter,  which  says 
so  much  in  so  few  words.  It  is  very  sad.  Knowing  what 
that  sorrow  is,  I  deeply  sympathize  with  you  and  your 
wife.  No  one  who  has  not  undergone  such  a  bereave 
ment  can  have  any  idea  of  the  keenness  of  the  affliction 
that  has  fallen  upon  you.  I  cannot  console  you,  I  can 
only  feel  for  you  and  with  you.  Such  ploughshares  do 
not  go  over  us  for  naught;  they  turn  up  the  deepest 
parts  of  our  natures,  and  make  us  more  akin  to  all  who 
have  suffered.  I  hope  you  will  all  have  strength  to  bear 
it ;  but  it  is  hard  to  bear. 


To  G.  W.  Greene. 

May  5,  1868. 

I  am  sorry  that  you  are  not  here  this  week,  as  it 
presents  unusual  attractions  in  the  way  of  moonlight, 
mist,  and  music.  Every  day  an  oratorio,  and  every 
night  a  concert.  On  Friday  afternoon  Beethoven's  Ninth 
Symphony  ! 

All  my  preparations  are  completed  for  the  voyage ; 
and,  strange  to  say,  I  begin  to  think  the  life  at  sea  will 
be  very  agreeable.  Come  as  soon  as  you  can. 


400  BELATED  LETTERS. 

To  G.  W.  Greene. 

March  27,  1881. 

I  hasten  to  answer  your  questions  as  well  as  I  can, 
and  as  briefly. 

My  first  French  teacher  in  my  boyhood  was,  I  think, 
an  Italian  [Nolcini].  The  second,  also  in  Portland,  a 
German.  In  college,  plodding  on  by  myself,  I  remember 
reading  Mme.  de  Genlis's  Siege  de  Eochelle.  I  never  knew 
how  the  professorship  [at  Bowdoin]  was  brought  about ; 
only  that  it  was  offered  to  me,  to  my  great  surprise  and 
delight.  I  made  no  acquaintances  in  Paris  [in  1826] 
among  the  French,  but  Lafayette  and  Mine,  de  Sailly, 
sister  of  Berry er  the  orator.1  I  worked  at  French  with 
Levizac's  Grammar,  the  Dictionary  of  Boniface,  and  the 
Memoires  de  Sully,  among  other  books  no  longer  remem 
bered.  I  did  not  much  frequent  the  theatres  or  operas, 
but  went  once  or  twice  to  all  the  principal  ones.  Nor 
was  I  much  of  a  sight-seer.  My  chief  companions  in 
Paris  were  Pierre  Irving,  David  Berdan,  and  my  cousin, 
Dr.  Storer. 

1  And  daughter  of  Berryer  the  advocate.  Mr.  Longfellow  had 
forgotten,  after  so  many  years,  two  French  gentlemen  of  whom  he 
speaks  in  one  of  his  letters  from  Paris  in  1826.  A  detailed  account 
has  been  published  of  an  acquaintance  made  at  that  time  with  Jules 
Janin  ;  but  there  is  certainly  some  mistake  about  this,  as  Mr.  Long 
fellow  nowhere  mentions  it  in  any  journal  or  letter  at  the  time  or 
afterward.  He  could  not  well  have  forgotten  it  ;  and  when  he  de 
scribes  his  visit  to  Janin  in  1842  there  is  no  hint  of  any  previous 
acquaintance. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE   STUDY  AT   CKAIGIE   HOUSE.* 

I  PASSED  an  hour  or  two  lately  within  the  familiar 
walls  of  Longfellow's  study.  The  room  is  on  the  ground 
floor  at  the  right  of  the  entrance.  It  is  large  and  square, 
and  the  walls  on  three  sides  are  covered  above  the  white 
wainscot  with  paper  of  a  soft  brown  tint.  The  fourth  side 
is  wainscoted  to  the  ceiling  in  the  "  colonial  "  style,  and  in 
the  spacious  panel  above  the  fireplace  is  a  fine  old  round 
convex  mirror  with  two  sconces,  reflecting  in  miniature  all 
the  interior  and  much  even  of  what  lies  without  beyond 
the  dark-red  curtains  that  shade  the  deep  windows. 
Through  these  one  looks  across  the  open  field  and  the 
meadows  where  winds,  with  an  occasional  gleam  of  flash 
ing  water,  the  Charles,  the  "  Silent  River  "  of  the  poet's 
song,  to  the  long,  low  hills  of  Brighton  and  Brookline. 
It  was  this  quiet  view  that  met  the  poet's  eye  if  he 
but  turned  his  head  while  he  wrote  at  the  high  desk 
which  has  always  stood  upon  the  table  near  the  corner 
front  window.  Here  many  of  the  familiar  lines  were  first 
put  upon  paper,  many  letters  written,  and  a  considerable 
part  of  the  translation  of  Dante.  On  this  desk  stands 
a  plaster  statuette  of  Goethe,  representing  him  in  a  long 
great-coat,  with  his  hands  folded  behind  him.  Near  by, 
on  the  seat  in  the  window,  is  a  plain  little  wicker  basket 
that  was  once  Thomas  Moore's  waste-paper  basket ;  and 

1  By  W.  M.  Fullerton,  reprinted,  with  revision,  from  the  Sunday 
Record. 

26 


402  THE  STUDY  AT  CRAIGIE  HOUSE. 

close  at  hand  in  the  corner  ticks  the  tall  old-fashioned  Wil- 
lard  clock.  In  the  other  front  window  stands  an  orange- 
tree,  guarded  by  a  bronze  stork.  Between  the  two  windows 
is  a  carved  oaken  bookcase  of  antique  style,  surmounted 
by  a  bust  of  Shakespeare,  and  containing  perhaps  a  hun 
dred  books.  These  are  the  earliest  and  latest  editions  of 
Mr.  Longfellow's  works,  with  some  others ;  and,  in  thirty 
bound  volumes,  all  Mr.  Longfellow's  manuscripts  just 
as  they  came  back  from  the  printer.  Over  these  one 
might  spend  hours  tracing  the  development  of  the  poet's 
thought  in  his  additions,  corrections,  and  erasures.  One 
that  I  took  up  at  random  contained  the  review  of  Haw 
thorne's  first  book,  Twice-Told  Tales,  and  is  written,  with 
few  corrections,  in  that  easy,  flowing  back-hand  which  was 
characteristic  of  the  poet  during  almost  his  entire  life. 

There  are  four  other  bookcases  in  the  study,  of  the 
same  massive  style,  besides  the  shelves  that  fill  the  recess 
of  a  window  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  room  and  con 
tain,  for  the  most  part,  the  English  poets  and  dramatists. 
Two  of  the  bookcases  stand  on  either  side  of  the  door  as 
one  enters  from  the  hall,  and  two  are  at  the  back  of  the 
room,  with  the  fireplace  and  the  round  mirror  between 
them.  They  all  contain  fine  editions  of  familiar  authors 
in  handsome  bindings,  but  do  not  afford,  either  in  num 
ber  or  character,  more  than  a  suggestion  of  the  large  and 
valuable  collection  of  books  which  the  house  contains 
from  bottom  to  top,  and  in  almost  every  room. 

In  the  study  itself  there  are  several  extremely  interest 
ing  first  editions  and  authors'  copies  which  the  bibliophile 
would  delight  in.  Here,  for  example,  is  the  first  edition 
of  "Poems  by  Mr.  Gray,"  the  rare  1832  edition  of  Tenny 
son's  poems,  and  the  slender  volume  in  board  covers  of 
"  Poems  by  William  Cullen  Bryant,"  printed  in  1821  at 
Cambridge,  and  containing  in  its  forty -four  pages  so  much 
that  is  really  best  in  Bryant's  work,  —  the  lines  '  To 


THE  STUDY  AT  CRAIGIE  HOUSE.  403 

a  Waterfowl,'  the  '  Inscription  for  the  Entrance  into  a 
Wood,'  'Green  Kiver,'  and  ' T hanatopsis.'  Here,  also,  is 
the  first  edition  of  Coleridge's  "  Sibylline  Leaves,"  with 
many  manuscript  notes  by  himself  and  by  his  nephew. 
Among  them  is  a  most  interesting  emendation  of  '  The 
Ancient  Mariner.'  After  the  lines,  — 

"  The  naked  hulk  alongside  came, 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice; 
'The  game  is  done  !     I  Ve  won,  I  Ve  won  !' 
Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice," — 

comes  the  following  stanza,  opposite  which,  in  pencil  in  the 
margin,  are  the  words  :  "To  be  struck  out.  S.  T.  C."  :  — 

"  A  gust  of  wind  sterte  up  behind 

And  whistled  through  his  bones; 

Through  the  holes  of  his  eyes  and  the  hole  of  his  mouth, 
Half  whistles  and  half  groans." 

This  volume  contains  the  fine  poem  '  America  to  Great 
Britain,'  with  this  note  in  Coleridge's  hand  :  "  By  Wash 
ington  Allston,  a  Painter  born  to  renew  the  fifteenth 
century." 

In  the  bookcase  at  the  left  of  the  door  as  one  enters 
from  the  hall  stand  the  three  handsome  octavos  of  the 
Works  of  Chatterton,  —  the  first  fine  book  which  the  poet 
owned.  They  represented  the  recompense  of  a  year's 
writing  of  verse  while  he  was  a  student  at  Bowdoin.  A 
small  ante-room,  in  the  left-hand  corner  opposite  the  door, 
holds  a  notable  collection  of  splendid  vellum-bound  folios 
of  the  Italian  poets,  some  of  them  in  the  superb  Bodoni 
type.  Here  also  are  the  three  great  volumes  of  Lord 
Vernon's  famous  critical  edition  of  Dante's  Inferno,  with 
its  abundant  illustrations,  and  the  Dutch  translation  of 
the  Divina  Commedia  in  two  large  volumes.  A  book 
case  in  this  ante-room  is  filled  with  various  editions  of 
Mr.  Longfellow's  works,  including  over  thirty  translations 
in  different  languages. 


404  THE  STUDY  AT  CRAIGIE  HOUSE. 

On  the  right  of  the  fireplace  is  the  well-known  chair 
given  to  the  poet  by  the  children  of  Cambridge;  and 
opposite,  across  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  is  the  deep 
arm-chair  in  which,  without  eyes,  in  the  evening,  much  of 
'Evangeline'  was  written  in  pencil,  in  an  almost  illeg 
ible  hand,  to  be  copied  out  next  morning.  This  chair  was 
a  favorite  seat  of  Charles  Sumner  also,  to  whose  length  of 
limb  its  depth  was  well  fitted.  In  the  bookcase  in  front 
of  which  it  stands  are  the  Works  of  Sumner  in  fifteen 
volumes,  and  his  Life ;  above  hangs  his  portrait  in  crayon. 
This  is  one  of  five  portraits  drawn  in  1846  by  Eastman 
Johnson,  at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  at  Mr.  Longfellow's 
request.  The  thoughtful  refined  face  of  Sumner  gazes 
pensively  down  upon  the  chair  at  the  centre-table,  where 
his  friend  most  often  sat.  Opposite,  over  a  bookcase  in 
which  is  a  photograph  of  the  Severn  portrait  of  Keats, 
hangs  the  picture  of  Emerson's  clearly  cut  features,  with 
the  sweet  smile  about  the  mouth.  Beyond,  on  the  side 
wall,  is  the  face  of  Hawthorne,  —  not  so  successfully  por 
trayed,  perhaps,  as  the  rest,  but  still  looking  much  as  he 
must  have  looked  as  a  young  author,  with  the  high,  broad 
forehead,  the  mass  of  hair,  and  the  great,  open  eyes.  Then, 
on  the  same  wall,  beyond  the  books  and  the  window  near 
to  the  corner,  comes  the  portrait  of  Felton,  with  a  happy 
and  scholarly  expression,  —  the  very  face  of  him  whom 
Dickens  called  "  heartiest  of  Greek  professors."  Long 
fellow's  own  portrait  is  at  the  right  of  the  door  leading 
into  the  hall,  near  the  orange-tree.  These  fine  crayons  are 
most  interesting,  from  the  fact  that  they  show  the  faces 
of  all  in  their  earlier  manhood.  Sumner  seems  to  have 
changed  most  of  all,  in  the  conflict  of  the  bravely  fought 
battle  of  his  life.  A  portrait  of  Longfellow  in  oils,  by  his 
son  Ernest,  stands  upon  an  easel  in  one  corner. 

On  the  eastern  wall,  high  up  on  a  bracket  at  the  top  of 
an  ancient  mirror,  is  a  statuette  of  Dante.  Below  is  an 


THE  STUDY  AT  CRAIGIE  HOUSE.  405 

old-fashioned  table,  on  which  stands  Crawford's  bust  of 
the  poet's  life-long  friend,  George  W.  Greene.  The  lower 
part  of  it  is  hidden  by  a  small  Italian  casket,  which  con 
tains  some  fragments  of  the  coffin  of  Dante  in  a  little 
glass  box,  and  a  minute  edition  of  the  Divina  Commedia. 
Seen  through  the  window  at  the  right,  is  the  spacious 
veranda,  where  the  poet  speaks  often,  in  his  journal,  of 
walking.  On  the  round  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
among  the  books  and  pamphlets,  is  the  inkstand  that 
once  belonged  to  Coleridge,  beside  that  of  Thomas  Moore 
and  Longfellow's  own;  and  by  the  side  of  the  last  are 
four  or  five  quill  pens  —  he  used  no  other  kind  —  that 
once  were  eloquent  with  song. 

Here,  then,  is  the  room  sacred  to  the  Muses  almost 
above  all  others  on  American  soil.  Here  may  be  breathed 
the  "still  air  of  delightful  studies."  The  favorite  motto 
of  the  poet,  Non  clamor,  sed  amor,  seems  to  be  the  burden 
of  every  tick  of  the  clock.  Time  lingers  within  these 
walls  as  it  does  along  the  ridges  of  the  hills  in  an  August 
afternoon,  and  every  suggestion  is  one  of  restfulness 
and  peace.  And  in  this  quiet  it  may  be  fitting  to  read, 
from  this  white-covered  volume  on  the  table,  Austin 
Dobson's  tribute  to 

HENEY  WADSWOETH   LONGFELLOW. 

Nee  turpem  senectam 
Degere,  nee  cithara  carentem.1 

HORACE. 

"  Not  to  be  tuneless  in  old  age  ! " 
Ah  !  surely  blest  his  pilgrimage 

Who,  in  his  Winter's  snow, 

Still  sings  with  note,  with  note  as  sweet  and  clear 
As  in  the  morning  of  the  year 

When  the  first  violets  blow  ! 

1  This  is  the  motto  of  Ultima  Thule. 


THE  STUDY  AT  CRA1GIE  HOUSE. 

Blest !  —  but  more  blest  whom  Summer's  heat, 
Whom  Spring's  impulsive  stir  and  beat, 

Have  taught  no  feverish  lure  ; 
Whose  Muse,  benignant  and  serene, 
Still  keeps  his  Autumn  chaplet  green 

Because  his  verse  is  pure. 

Lie  calm,  0  white  and  laureate  head  ! 
Lie  calm,  0  Dead,  that  art  not  dead, 

Since  from  the  voiceless  grave 
Thy  voice  shall  speak  to  old  and  young 
While  song  yet  speaks  an  English  tongue 

By  Charles'  or  Tharnis'  wave  ! 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.1 

ON  Saturday,  March  2,  1884,  at  midday,  the  ceremony 
of  unveiling  a  bust  of  Longfellow  took  place  in  Poets' 
Corner,  Westminster  Abbey.  It  is  the  work  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Brock,  A.R.A.,  and  was  executed  by  the  desire 
of  some  five  hundred  admirers  of  the  American  poet.  It 
stands  on  a  bracket  near  the  tomb  of  Chaucer,  and  between 
the  memorials  to  Cowley  and  Dryden. 

Before  the  ceremony  took  place,  a  meeting  of  the  sub 
scribers  was  held  in  the  Jerusalem  Chamber.  In  the 
absence  of  Dean  Bradley,  owing  to  a  death  in  his  family, 
the  Sub-Dean,  Canon  Protheroe,  was  called  to  the  chair. 

Mr.  Bennoch  having  formally  announced  the  order  of 
proceeding,  Dr.  Bennett  made  a  brief  statement,  and  called 
upon  Earl  Granville  to  ask  the  Dean's  acceptance  of  the 
bust. 

Earl  Granville  then  said :  "  Mr.  Sub-Dean,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  ...  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  fulfil  the  promise 
made  for  me  of  making  a  speech  on  this  occasion.  Not 
that  there  are  wanting  materials  for  a  speech ;  there  are 
materials  of  the  richest  description.  There  are,  first  of 
all,  the  high  character,  the  refinement,  and  the  personal 
charm  of  the  late  illustrious  poet,  —  if  I  may  say  so  in 
the  presence  of  those  so  near  and  so  dear  to  him.  There 
are  also  the  characteristics  of  those  works  which  have 
secured  for  him  not  a  greater  popularity  in  the  United 

1  From  an  English  paper. 


408      THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

States  themselves  than  in  this  island  and  in  all  the  Eng 
lish-speaking  dependencies  of  the  British  Empire.  There 
are  besides  very  large  views  with  regard  to  the  literature 
which  is  common  to  both  the  United  States  and  ourselves, 
and  with  regard  to  the  separate  branches  of  literature 
which  have  sprung  up  in  each  country,  and  which  act  and 
react  with  so  much  advantage  one  upon  another  ;  and 
there  are,  above  all,  those  relations  of  a  moral  and  intel 
lectual  character  which  become  bonds  stronger  and  greater 
every  day  between  the  intellectual  and  cultivated  classes 
of  these  two  great  countries.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  with 
such  materials  there  are  persons  here  infinitely  more  fitted 
to  deal  than  I  could  have  been  even  if  I  had  had  time  to 
bestow  upon  the  thought  and  the  labor  necessary  to  con 
dense  into  the  limits  of  a  speech  some  of  the  considera 
tions  I  have  mentioned.  I  am  glad  that  among  those 
present  there  is  one  who  is  not  only  the  official  represen 
tative  of  the  United  States,  but  who  speaks  with  more 
authority  than  any  one  with  regard  to  the  literature  and 
intellectual  condition  of  that  country.  I  cannot  but  say 
how  glad  I  am  that  I  have  been  present  at  two  of  the 
meetings  held  to  inaugurate  this  work,  and  I  atn  delighted 
to  be  present  here  to  take  part  in  the  closing  ceremony. 
With  the  greatest  pleasure  I  make  the  offer  of  this  memo 
rial  to  the  Sub-Dean;  and  from  the  great  kindness  we 
have  received  already  from  the  authorities  of  Westminster 
Abbey,  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  received  in  the  same 
spirit.  I  beg  to  offer  to  you,  Mr.  Sub-Dean,  the  bust 
which  has  been  subscribed  for." 

The  American  Minister,  Mr.  Lowell,  then  said :  "  Mr. 
Sub-Dean,  my  lord,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  think  I  may 
take  upon  myself  the  responsibility,  in  the  name  of  the 
daughters  of  my  beloved  friend,  to  express  their  grati 
tude  to  Lord  Granville  for  having  found  time,  amid  the 
continuous  and  arduous  calls  of  his  duty,  to  be  present 


I'OETS'  CORNER,  WESTMINSTER  ABKEY. 


THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.       409 

here  this  morning.  Having  occasion  to  speak  in  this  place 
some  two  years  ago,  I  remember  that  I  then  expressed  the 
hope  that  some  day  or  other  the  Abbey  of  Westminster 
would  become  the  Valhalla  of  the  whole  English-speaking 
race.  I  little  expected  then  that  a  beginning  would  be 
made  so  soon,  —  a  beginning  at  once  painful  and  gratifying 
in  the  highest  degree  to  myself,  —  with  the  bust  of  my 
friend.  Though  there  be  no  Academy  in  England  which 
corresponds  to  that  of  France,  yet  admission  to  Westmin 
ster  Abbey  forms  a  sort  of  posthumous  test  of  literary 
eminence  perhaps  as  effectual.  Every  one  of  us  has  his 
own  private  Valhalla,  and  it  is  not  apt  to  be  populous. 
But  the  conditions  of  admission  to  the  Abbey  are  very 
different.  We  ought  no  longer  to  ask  why  is  so-and-so 
here,  and  we  ought  always  to  be  able  to  answer  the  ques 
tion  why  such  a  one  is  not  here.  I  think  that  on  this 
occasion  I  should  express  the  united  feeling  of  the  whole 
English-speaking  race  in  confirming  the  choice  which  has 
been  made,  —  the  choice  of  one  whose  name  is  dear  to 
them  all,  who  has  inspired  their  lives  and  consoled  their 
hearts,  and  who  has  been  admitted  to  the  fireside  of  all  of 
them  as  a  familiar  friend.  Nearly  forty  years  ago  I  had 
occasion,  in  speaking  of  Mr.  Longfellow,  to  suggest  an 
analogy  between  him  and  the  English  poet  Gray ;  and  I 
have  never  since  seen  any  reason  to  modify  or  change 
that  opinion.  There  are  certain  very  marked  analogies 
between  them,  I  think.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  the 
same  love  of  a  certain  subdued  splendor,  not  inconsistent 
with  transparency  of  diction ;  there  is  the  same  power  of 
absorbing  and  assimilating  the  beauties  of  other  literature 
without  loss  of  originality ;  and  above  all  there  is  that 
genius,  that  sympathy  with  universal  sentiments  and  the 
power  of  expressing  them  so  that  they  come  home  to 
everybody,  both  high  and  low,  which  characterize  both 
poets.  There  is  something  also  in  that  simplicity,  —  sim- 


410      THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

plicity  in  itself  being  a  distinction.  But  in  style,  simplicity 
and  distinction  must  be  combined  in  order  to  their  proper 
effect;  and  the  only  warrant  perhaps  of  permanence  in 
literature  is  this  distinction  in  style.  It  is  something 
quite  indefinable;  it  is  something  like  the  distinction  of 
good-breeding,  characterized  perhaps  more  by  the  absence 
of  certain  negative  qualities  than  by  the  presence  of  certain 
positive  ones.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  distinction  of  style 
is  eminently  found  in  the  poet  whom  we  are  met  here  in 
some  sense  to  celebrate  to-day.  This  is  not  the  place,  of 
course,  for  criticism ;  still  less  is  it  the  place  for  eulogy,  for 
eulogy  is  but  too  often  disguised  apology.  But  I  have 
been  struck  particularly  —  if  I  may  bring  forward  one 
instance  —  with  some  of  my  late  friend's  sonnets,  which 
seem  to  me  to  be  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  per 
fect  we  have  in  the  language.  His  mind  always  moved 
straight  toward  its  object,  and  was  always  permeated 
with  the  emotion  that  gave  it  frankness  and  sincerity,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  most  ample  expression.  It  seems 
that  I  should  add  a  few  words  —  in  fact  I  cannot  refrain 
from  adding  a  few  words  —  with  regard  to  the  personal 
character  of  a  man  whom  I  knew  for  more  than  forty 
years,  and  whose  friend  I  was  honored  to  call  myself  for 
thirty  years.  Never  was  a  private  character  more  answer 
able  to  public  performance  than  that  of  Longfellow. 
Never  have  I  known  a  more  beautiful  character.  I  was 
familiar  with  it  daily,  —  with  the  constant  charity  of  his 
hand  and  of  his  mind.  His  nature  was  consecrated 
ground,  into  which  no  unclean  spirit  could  ever  enter.  I 
feel  entirely  how  inadequate  anything  that  I  can  say  is  to 
the  measure  and  proportion  of  an  occasion  like  this.  But 
I  think  I  am  authorized  to  accept,  in  the  name  of  the  peo 
ple  of  America,  this  tribute  to  not  the  least  distinguished 
of  her  sons,  to  a  man  who  in  every  way,  both  in  public 
and  in  private,  did  honor  to  the  country  that  gave  him 


THE  MEMORIAL  IN   WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.       411 

birth.  I  cannot  add  anything  more  to  what  was  so  well 
said  in  a  few  words  by  Lord  Granville,  for  I  do  not  think 
that  these  occasions  are  precisely  the  times  for  set  dis 
courses,  but  rather  for  a  few  words  of  feeling,  of  gratitude, 
and  of  appreciation." 

The  Sub-Dean,  in  accepting  the  bust,  remarked  that  it 
was  impossible  not  to  feel,  in  doing  so,  that  they  were 
accepting  a  very  great  honor  to  the  country.  He  could 
conceive  that  if  the  great  poet  were  allowed  to  look  down 
on  the  transactions  of  that  day  he  would  not  think  it 
unsatisfactory  that  his  memorial  had  been  placed  in  that 
great  Abbey  among  those  of  his  brothers  in  poetry. 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  moved  a  vote  of 
thanks  to  the  honorary  secretary  and  the  honorary 
treasurer,  and  said  he  thought  he  had  been  selected  for 
the  duty  because  he  had  spent  two  or  three  years  of  his 
life  in  the  United  States,  and  a  still  longer  time  in  some 
of  the  British  colonies.  It  gave  him  the  greater  pleasure 
to  do  this,  having  known  Mr.  Longfellow  in  America,  and 
having  from  boyhood  enjoyed  his  poetry,  which  was  quite 
as  much  appreciated  in  England  and  her  dependencies  as 
in  America.  Wherever  he  had  been  in  America,  and 
wherever  he  had  met  Americans,  he  had  found  there  was 
one  place  at  least  which  they  looked  upon  as  being  as 
much  theirs  as  it  was  England's,  —  that  place  was  the 
Abbey  Church  of  Westminster.  It  seemed,  therefore,  to 
him  that  the  present  occasion  was  an  excellent  beginning 
of  the  recognition  of  the  Abbey  as  what  it  had  been 
called,  —  the  Valhalla  of  the  English-speaking  people.  He 
trusted  this  beginning  would  not  be  the  end  of  its  appli 
cation  in  this  respect. 

The  company  then  proceeded  to  Poets'  Corner,  where, 
taking  his  stand  in  front  of  the  covered  bust, 

The  Sub-Dean  said :  "I  feel  to-day  that  a  double  solem 
nity  attaches  to  this  occasion  which  calls  us  together. 


412     THE  MEMORIAL  IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

There  is  first  the  familiar  fact  that  to-day  we  are  adding 
another  name  to  the  great  roll  of  illustrious  men  whom 
we  commemorate  within  these  walls,  that  we  are  adding 
something  to  that  rich  heritage  which  we  have  received 
of  national  glory  from  our  ancestors,  and  which  we  feel 
bound  to  hand  over  to  our  successors,  not  only  unimpaired, 
but  even  increased.  There  is  then  the  novel  arid  peculiar 
fact  which  attaches  to  the  erection  of  a  monument  here  to 
the  memory  of  Henry  Longfellow.  In  some  sense,  poets 
—  great  poets  like  him  —  may  be  said  to  be  natives  of  all 
lands  ;  but  never  before  have  the  great  men  of  other 
countries,  however  brilliant  and  widespread  tlieir  fame, 
been  admitted  to  a  place  in  Westminster  Abbey.  A  cen 
tury  ago  America  was  just  commencing  her  perilous  path 
of  independence  and  self-government.  Who  then  could 
have  ventured  to  predict  that  within  the  short  space  of 
one  hundred  years  we  in  England  should  be  found  to 
honor  an  American  as  much  as  we  could  do  so  by  giving 
his  monument  a  place  within  the  sacred  shrine  which 
holds  the  memories  of  our  most  illustrious  sons  ?  Is  there 
not  in  this  a  very  significant  fact ;  is  it  not  an  emphatic 
proof  of  the  oneness  which  belongs  to  our  common  race, 
and  of  the  community  of  our  national  glories?  May  I 
not  add,  is  it  not  a  pledge  that  we  give  to  each  other  that 
nothing  can  long  and  permanently  sever  nations  which 
are  bound  together  by  the  eternal  ties  of  language,  race, 
religion,  and  common  feeling  ? " 

The  reverend  gentleman   then  removed  the  covering 
from  the  bust,  and  the  ceremony  ended. 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX. 


I. 

GENEALOGY. 

THE  name  of  Longfellow  is  found  in  the  records  of  York 
shire,  England,  as  far  back  as  1486,  and  appears  under  the 
various  spellings  of  Langfellay,  Langfellowe,  Langfellow, 
and  Longfellow.  The  first  of  the  name  is  James  Lang 
fellay,  of  Otley.  In  1510  Sir  Peter  Langfellowe  is  vicar  of 
Calverley.  In  the  neighboring  towns  of  Ilkley,  Guiseley,  and 
Horsforth  lived  many  Longfellows,  mostly  yeomen  :  some 
of  them  well-to-do,  others  a  charge  on  the  parish ;  some 
getting  into  the  courts  and  fined  for  such  offences  as 
"  cutting  green  wode,"  or  "  greenhow,"  or  "  carrying  away 
the  Lord's  wood,"  —  wood  from  the  yew-trees  of  the  lord 
of  the  manor,  to  which  they  thought  they  had  a  right  for 
their  bows.  One  of  the  name  was  overseer  of  highways, 
and  one  was  churchwarden,  in  Ilkley. 

It  is  well  established,  by  tradition  and  by  documents, 
that  the  poet's  ancestors  were  in  Horsforth.  In  1625  we 
find  Edward  Longfellow  (perhaps  from  Ilkley)  purchasing 
"  Upper  House,"  in  Horsforth ;  and  in  1647  he  makes  over 
his  house  and  lands  to  his  son  William.  This  William 
was  a  well-to-do  clothier  who  lived  in  Upper  House,  and, 
besides,  possessed  three  other  houses  or  cottages  (being 
taxed  for  "  4  hearths  "),  with  gardens,  closes,  crofts,  etc. 


416  APPENDIX. 

He  had  two  sons,  Nathan  and  William,  and  four  or  five 
daughters.  William  was  baptized  at  Guiseley  (the  parish 
church  of  Horsforth),  Oct.  20,  1650. 

The  first  of  the  name  in  America  was  this  William,  son 
of  William  of  Horsforth.  He  came  over,  a  young  man, 
to  Newbury,  Massachusetts,  about  1676.  Soon  after,  he 
married  Anne  Sewall,  daughter  of  Henry  Sewall,  of  New- 
bury,  and  sister  of  Samuel  Sewall,  afterward  the  first  chief- 
justice  of  Massachusetts.  He  received  from  his  father-in- 
law  a  farm  in  the  parish  of  Byfield,  on  the  Parker  River.1 
He  is  spoken  of  as  "  well  educated,  but  a  little  wild,"  or,  as 
another  puts  it,  "  not  so  much  of  a  Puritan  as  some."  In 
1690,  as  ensign  of  the  Newbury  company  in  the  Essex 
regiment,  he  joined  the  ill-fated  expedition  of  Sir  William 
Phipps  against  Quebec,  which  on  its  return  encountered 
a  severe  storm  in  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  One  of  the 
ships  was  wrecked  on  the  Island  of  Anticosti,  and  William 
Longfellow,  with  nine  of  his  comrades,  was  drowned.  He 
left  five  children.  The  fourth  of  these,  Stephen  (1),  left  to 
shift  for  himself,  became  a  blacksmith.  He  married  Abi 
gail,  daughter  of  the  Eev.  Edward  Tompson,  of  Newbury, 
afterward  of  Marshfield.  Their  fifth  child,  Stephen  (2), 
born  in  1723,  being  a  bright  boy,  was  sent  to  Harvard  Col 
lege,  where  he  took  his  first  degree  in  1742,  and  his  second 
in  1745.  In  this  latter  year  (after  having  meanwhile  taught 
a  school  in  York)  he  went  to  Portland  in  Maine  (then  Fal- 
mouth),  to  be  the  schoolmaster  of  the  town.2  He  gained 

1  In  1680  Samuel  Sewall  wrote  to  his  brother  in  England:  "Brother 
Longfellow's  father  .  .  .  lives  at  Horsforth,  near  Leeds.     Tell  him  bro. 
has  a  son  William,  a  fine  likely  child,  and  a  very  good  piece  of  land,  and 
greatly  wants  a  little  stock  to  manage  it.     And  that  father  has  paid  for 
him  upwards  of  an  hundred  pounds  to  get  him  out  of  debt."     In  1688 
William  Longfellow  is  entered  upon  the  town-records  of  Newbury  as  having 
"two  houses,  six  plough-lands,  meadows,"  etc.     The  year  before,  he  had 
made  a  visit  to  his  old  home  in  Horsforth. 

2  This  was  the  letter  from  the  minister  of  the  town  inviting  him  :  — 

FALMOOTH,  November  15,  1744. 

Sm,  — We  need  a  school-master.    Mr.  Tlaisted  advises  of  your  being  at  liberty.     If 
you  will  undertake  the  service  in  this  place,  you  may  be  depend  upon  our  being  gener- 


APPENDIX.  417 

the  respect  of  the  community  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was 
called  to  fill  important  offices ;  being  successively  parish 
clerk,  town  clerk,  register  of  probate,  and  clerk  of  the 
courts.  When  Portland  was  burned  by  Mowatt  in  1775,  his 
house  having  been  destroyed,  he  removed  to  Gorham,  where 
he  resided  till  his  death  in  1790.  It  was  said  of  him  that 
he  was  a  man  of  piety,  integrity,  and  honor,  and  that  his 
favorite  reading  was  history  and  poetry.  He  had  married 
Tabitha,  daughter  of  Samuel  Bragdon  of  York.  Their 
oldest  son  Stephen  (3)  was  bom  in  1750,  inheriting  the 
name  and  the  farm ;  and  in  1773  he  married  Patience 
Young,  of  York.  He  represented  his  town  in  the  Massa 
chusetts  legislature  for  eight  years,  and  his  county  for 
several  years  after  as  senator.  For  fourteen  years  (1797- 
1811)  he  was  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  and 
is  remembered  as  a  man  of  sterling  qualities,  great  integrity, 
and  sound  common-sense.  His  second  child,  Stephen  (4), 
born  in  Gorham  in  1776,  graduated  at  Harvard  College  in 
1798  ;  studied  law  in  Portland,  and  in  1801  was  admitted 
to  the  Cumberland  Bar,  at  which  he  soon  attained  and  kept 
a  distinguished  position.  In  1814,  as  a  member  of  the 
Federalist  party,  to  whose  principles  he  was  strongly  at 
tached,  he  was  sent  as  representative  to  the  Massachusetts 
legislature.  In  1822  he  was  elected  representative  to  Con 
gress,  which  office  he  held  for  one  term.  In  1828  he  re 
ceived  the  degree  of  LL.D.  from  Bowdoin  College,  of  which 
he  was  a  Trustee  for  nineteen  years.  In  1834  he  was 
elected  President  of  the  Maine  Historical  Society.  He 
died  in  1849,  highly  respected  for  his  integrity,  public 
spirit,  hospitality  and  generosity.  In  1804  he  had  married 
Zilpah,  daughter  of  General  Peleg  Wads  worth,  of  Portland. 

ous  and  your  being  satisfied.  I  wish  you'd  come  as  soon  as  possible,  and  doubt  not 
but  you  '11  find.  tMngs  much  to  your  content. 

Your  humble  ser't, 

THOS.  SMITH. 

P.  S.    I  write  in  the  name  and  with  the  power  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town.    If  you 
can't  serve  us,  pray  advise  us  per  first  opportunity. 

The  salary  for  the  first  year  was  £200,  in  a  depreciated  currency. 

27 


418  APPENDIX. 

Of  their  eight  children,  Henry  Wadsworth  was  the  second. 
He  was  named  for  his  mother's  brother,  a  gallant  young 
lieutenant  in  the  Navy,  who  on  the  night  of  Sept.  4,  1804, 
gave  his  life  before  Tripoli  in  the  war  with  Algiers. 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  was  born  on  the  27th  Feb 
ruary,  1807 ;  graduated  at  Bowdoin  College  in  1825 ;  in  1829 
was  appointed  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  in  the  same 
College  ;  was  married  in  1831  to  Mary  Storer  Potter  (daugh 
ter  of  Barrett  Potter,  of  Portland),  who  died  in  1835  ;  in 
1836  was  appointed  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  and 
Belles-Lettres  in  Harvard  College,  which  office  he  held  till 
1854.  He  was  again  married,  in  July,  1843,  to  Frances 
Elizabeth  Appleton,  daughter  of  Nathan '  Appleton,  of 
Boston.  She  died  in  1861.  Their  children  were  Charles 
Appleton,  Ernest  Wadsworth,  Frances  (who  died  in  in 
fancy),  Alice  Mary,  Edith,  and  Anne  Allegra.  He  died  on 
the  24th  March,  1882. 


APPENDIX. 


419 


Edward  Longfellow,  of  Horsforth. 

I 
William 

b.  1620  ; 
d.  1704. 


Nathan 
d.  1687 


William 

b.  1650  ;  em. 

to  America  ; 

m.  10  Nov.  1676 

to  Anne  Sewall  ; 

d.  31  Oct.  1690. 


Mary 
Isabella 


Lucy 
Martha 


William 

1 
Stephen 
d.  in 
infancy 

Anne      Stephen  (J) 
b.  22  Sept.  1685  ; 
m.  13  Mar.  1713  to 
Abigail  Tompson  ; 
d.  17  Nov.  1764. 

Elizabeth         Nat] 
m.  Benj. 
Woodman 

MM 

William 
Ann 
Edward 
Sarah 

Stephen  (2) 

b.  7  Feb.  1723  ; 
(H.  C.  1742) 
(Portland  1745) 
m.  19  Oct.  1749 
to  Tabitha  Bragdon  ; 
d.  Gorham,  1  May  1790. 

MM 
Samuel 
Abigail 
Elizabeth 
Nathan 

!                              Ill 
Stephen  (8)                       Samuel 
b.  3  Aug.  1750  ;                     Tabitha 
m.  13  Dec.  1773                     Abigail 
to  Patience  Young  ; 
d.  Gorham,  1824. 
1 

i                                       1                             1 
Tabitha                    Stephen  (4)            Abigail 
m.  Lothrop              b.  23  Mar.  1776  ;      m.  Saml. 
Lewis                      (H.  C.  1798)          Stephenson 
m.  1  Jan.  1804 
to  Zilpah  Wadsworth  ; 
d.  —  Aug.  1849. 

Ill 
Ann 
Catherine 
Samuel 

Stephen  (5)  Henry  W.         Elizabeth 

d.  1850  b.  27  Feb.  1807  ;      Anne 

m.  (1)  Sept.  1831 
to  Mary  S.  Potter  ; 
(2)  13"  July  1843 
to  Frances  E.  Appleton  ; 
d.  24  Mar.  1882. 


Alex.  W. 
Mary 


Ellen 
Saml. 


420  APPENDIX. 

The  Kev.  Eobert  Collyer,  who  has  made  a  study  of  the 
records  of  his  native  Yorkshire,  thus  brings  together  two 
names  well  known  in  poetry  :  — 

"  There  is  a  curious  last  chapter  to  my  story,  for  which  I  am  in 
debted  to  the  Boston  Athenaeum.  Into  this  nook  of  the  North 
[Ilkley],  a  good  while  ago,  the  Hebers  came,  and  lived  in  an  old 
gabled  house  that  is  still  standing  a  mile  out  of  the  town.  They 
were  the  ancestors  in  the  direct  line  of  that  good  Heber,  bishop  of 
Calcutta,  who  left  us  two  or  three  of  our  noblest  hymns;  arid  the 
Reginald  Heber  of  the  days  of  the  Ilkley  Longfellow  was  a  man  of 
great  charity,  who  left  the  interest  of  a  good  sum  of  money  to  be 
given  forever  to  the  poor  of  the  place.  But  in  a  book  in  the  Athe 
naeum  I  found  an  account  of  one  of  these  Hebers,  — the  son,  I  think, 
of  this  early  Reginald,  —  who  seems  to  have  been  a  great  scamp.  He 
turns  up  in  two  or  three  places,  always  to  his  discredit ;  and  what 
should  he  do  at  last  but  get  himself  brought  up  before  Walter  Hawks- 
worth,  the  local  magistrate  of  that  day,  on  a  charge  of  breaking  into 
the  house  of  a  poor  old  man,  together  with  two  lewd  companions, 
and  robbing  him  of  two  pounds  ten  shillings  in  money,  and  a  piece 
of  beef.  Heber  stood  over  the  old  man  with  an  axe,  and  threatened 
murder  if  he  made  any  noise.  It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  quite  dark;  but  the  old  man  said,  'I  fear  God,  and  not  man,' 
seized  the  axe  also,  until  he  came  to  the  hand  that  held  it,  felt  it  was 
a  very  soft  hand,  and  could  discern  that  the  burglar  was  tall.  They 
left  a  crowbar  and  a  wedge,  which  were  proven  to  belong  to  this 
Heber,  and  a  woman  sleeping  in  another  room  heard  Heber's  voice, 
which  she  well  knew.  But  the  main  witness  against  him  was  Eliza 
beth  Longfellow,  who  got  somehow  from  the  confederates  the  whole 
truth.  To  whom  also  Heber  came  on  the  Thursday  after  the  robbery, 
and  said  it  would  not  have  been  done  if  they  had  known  there  was 
no  more  money  in  the  house  than  was  found.  So  ends  this  old  bit 
of  violence  and  wrong.  A  note  to  the  narrative  says  the  thing  was 
not  followed  any  farther,  but  must  have  been  hushed  up  by  the  gen 
tlemen  of  the  West  Riding,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  Hebers.  Here 
is  this  curious  conjunction  of  two  names  that  have  since  become 
famous  in  two  worlds.  The  trees  that  in  this  new  time  reach  so 
beautifully  toward  heaven  in  the  Missionary  Hymn  and  the  Psalm 
of  Life,  are  blown  together  for  a  moment  in  that  nook  in  the  North 
by  that  lawless  wind  of  midnight  evil-doing  at  old  Sandie  Squire's 
little  home,  to  touch  no  more,  perhaps,  forever." 


APPENDIX.  421 

The  Wadsworths,  Longfellow's  ancestors  on  the  mother's 
side,  also  go  back  to  Yorkshire,  where  the  name  is  found 
under  the  forms  of  Waddisworth,  Waddesworth,  and  Wor- 
desworth,  —  suggesting  a  possible  connection  with  another 
famous  poet.  Longfellows  are  also  found  in  the  registers 
of  Kendal,  Westmoreland,  from  1580  to  1705. 

The  relation  of  the  poet  to  John  Alden,  of  '  Miles  Stan- 
dish's  Courtship/  is  in  this  wise.  John  Alden  married 
Priscilla  Mullens  (otherwise  spelled  Molines  and  Moleyns)  ; 
their  daughter  Elizabeth  married  William  Peabody,  whose 
daughter  Ruth  married  Benjamin  Bartlett,  whose  daughter 
Priscilla  married  John  Sampson,  whose  daughter  Susanna 
married  Deacon  Peleg  Wadsworth,  whose  son,  General 
Peleg,  was  Longfellow's  grandfather. 


II. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

[Revised  and  enlarged  from  the  Literary  World.] 


I. 

The  Published  Writings  of  Mr.  Longfellow. 

ELEMENTS  OF  FRENCH  GRAMMAR.  Translated  from  the 
French  of  C.  F.  L'Homond.  Portland:  1830. 

[Editor.]  MANUEL  DE  PROTERBES  DRAMATIQUES.  Port 
land  :  1830.  With  a  long  Preface  in  French  by  the 
Editor. 

[Editor.]  NOVELAS  ESPANOLAS.  Portland:  1830.  With 
an  original  Preface  in  Spanish. 

Origin  and  Progress  of  the  French  Language.  Article  in 
North  Am.  Rev.,  32.  277.  April,  1831. 

Defence  of  Poetry.  North  Am.  Rev.,  34.  56.  January, 
1832. 


422  APPENDIX. 

History  of  the  Italian  Language  and  Dialects.     North  Am. 

Rev.,  35.  283.     October,  1832. 
SYLLABUS    DE    LA    GRAMMAIRE    ITALIENNE.      Written   in 

French.     Boston :  1832. 

[Editor.]     COURS  DE  LANGUE  FRANCAISE.     Boston :  1832. 
I.   Le  Ministre  de  Wakefield. 

II.  Proverbes  Dramatiques. 

[Editor.]      SAGGI  DE'  NOVELLIERI  ITALIANI  D'  OGNI  SE- 

COLO  :  Tratti  da'  piu  celebri  Scrittori,  con  brevi  Notizie 

iutorno  alia  Vita  di  ciascheduno.     Boston:  1832.     With 

Preface  in  Italian  by  the  Editor. 

Spanish  Devotional  and  Moral  Poetry.      North  Am.  Rev., 

34.  277.     April,  1832. 

COPLAS  DE  MANRIQUE.      A  Translation  from  the  Spanish. 
Boston:  Allen  &  Ticknor,  1833. 

Jorge  Manrique  was  a  Spanish  poet  of  the  fifteenth  century.  His 
Coplas  is  a  funeral  poem  on  the  death  of  his  father,  extending  to  five  hun 
dred  lines.  Mr.  Longfellow's  volume  is  prefaced  with  the  above  essay  on 
the  moral  and  devotional  poetry  of  Spain,  from  the  North  Am.  Rev.,  34. 
277;  and  included  in  it  are  translations  of  Sonnets  by  Lope  de  Vega 
and  others. 

Spanish  Language   and   Literature.     North  Am.  Rev.,  36. 
316.     April,  1833. 

Old  English  Romances.     North  Am.  Rev.,  37.  374.     Octo 
ber,  1833. 

OUTRE  MER  ;  a  Pilgrimage  beyond  the  Sea.     2  vols.     New 
York :  Harpers,  1835. 
A  series  of  prose  descriptions  of  foreign  travel;  a  sort  of  "Sketch-book." 

Keviewed  by  0.  W.  Peabody  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  39.  459;  in  Am.  Month. 

Rev.,  4.  157.     Its  publication  was  begun  in  numbers,  of  which  only  two 

were  issued.     [Boston  :  1833.] 

The  Great  Metropolis.     North  Am.  Rev.,  44.  461.     April, 
1837. 

A  lively  review  of  a  new  work  on  London. 

Hawthorne's  Twice-Told  Tales.      North  Am.  Rev.,  45.  59. 

July,  1837. 
Tegner's  Frithiofs  Saga.     North  Am.  Rev.,  45.  149.     July, 

1837. 


APPENDIX.  423 

9 

Anglo-Saxon  Literature.      North  Am.  Rev.,  47.  90.     July, 

1838. 
HYPERION  ;  a  Romance.     2  vols.     New  York :  1839. 

This  was  the  first  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  works  written  in  his  Cambridge 
home,  —  in  the  Washington  chamber  of  the  Craigie  House.  Reviewed  by 
C.  C.  Felton  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  51.  145  ;  in  So.  Lit.  Mess.,  5.  839. 

VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.     Cambridge :  1839. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  first  volume  of  poems,  containing  "  The  Psalm  of 
Life,"  "The  Eeaper  and  the  Flowers,"  and  six  other  poems,  many  of 
which  were  originally  published  in  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine ;  also 
seven  "  Earlier  Poems,"  as  follows,  all  of  which  were  composed  before  the 
author  was  nineteen,  —  "  An  April  Day,"  "  Autumn,"  "Woods  in  Winter," 
"  Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns  at  Bethlehem,"  "  Sunrise  on  the  Hills," 
"  The  Spirit  of  Poetry,"  "  The  Burial  of  the  Minnisink." 

Reviewed  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  50.  266  ;  Christ.  Ex.,  28.  242. 

The  French  Language  in  England.     North  Am.  Mev.,  51. 

285.     October,  1840. 
BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Cambridge  :  1841. 

Including  "The  Skeleton  in  Armor,"  "The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus," 
"The  Village  Blacksmith,"  "God's  Acre,"  "To  the  River  Charles," 
and  "Excelsior."  Reviewed  by  C.  C.  Felton  in  North  Am.  Rev,,  55. 
114  ;  Monthly  Review,  160.  249. 

POEMS  ON  SLAVERY.     1842. 

Composed  during  a  return  voyage  from  Europe,  in  1842.  Reviewed  by 
W.  Ware  in  Christ.  Ex.,  33.  352  ;  Monthly  Review,  161,  64. 

THE  SPANISH  STUDENT.     A  Play  in  Three  Acts.     1843. 

In  this  may  be  found  the  serenade  beginning,   "  Stars  of  the  sum 
mer  night."      Reviewed  in  Athcnceum,  1844,  8  ;   in   Irish   Quart.  Rev., 
June,  1855,  202  ;   in  Poe's  Literati  ;  in  Whipple's  Essays  and  Reviews, 
1.  66. 
[Editor.]     THE  WAIF  :  a  Collection  of  Poems.    Cambridge  : 

1845.    With  Proem  by  the  Editor. 

[Editor.]     THE  POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  EUROPE.     Phila 
delphia:  1845. 

A  collection  of  poems,  translated  from  a  large  number  of  European 
poets,  with  introductions  and  biographical  and  critical  notices.  The  in 
troductions  and  many  of  the  translations  are  by  Mr.  Longfellow.  A  new 
edition,  revised  and  enlarged,  was  published  in  1871.  Reviewed  by 
F.  Bowen  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  61.  199  ;  by  C.  C.  Felton  in  Christ.  Ex., 
39.  225  ;  Am.  Whig  Rev.,  4.  496. 


424  APPENDIX. 

* 

THE  BELFRY  OF  BRUGES,  and  Other  Poems.     Boston  :  1846. 
[Editor.]     THE  ESTRAY  :  a  Collection  of  Poems.     Boston  : 

1847.     With  Proem  by  the  Editor. 
EVANGELINE  :  a  Tale  of  Acadie.     Boston :  1847. 

Reviewed  by  C.  C.  Felton  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  66.  215  ;  Am.  Whig 
Rev.,  7.  155  ;  New  Englander,  6.  548  ;  Eclectic  Mag.,  15.  96  ;  by  T.  S. 
King  in  Univ.  Quart.  Rev.,  5.  104;  by  W.  Whewell  in  Fraser's  Mag.,  37. 
295  ;  Brownson's  Quart.  Rev.,  7.  56  ;  Pioneer,  4.  211  ;  Christ.  Ex.,  44. 
143  ;  by  Philarete  Chasles  in  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  April,  1849.  (See 
also  J.  G.  Whittier's  Prose  Works,  ii.  63. ) 
KAVANAGH  ;  a  Tale.  Boston  :  1849. 

Reviewed  by  J.  R.  Lowell  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  69.  196;  by  T.  S.  King 
in  Christ.  Ex.,  47.  153. 
THE  SEASIDE  AND  THE  FIRESIDE.     Boston :  1850. 

Contains  "The  Building  of  the  Ship,"  "  Resignation,"  and  twenty-one 
other  poems. 
THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.     Boston :  1851. 

This  was  the  second  part  of  the  Trilogy  of  Christus,  though  first  written. 

Reviewed  in  Blackwood,  5.  71  ;  in  Eclectic  Mag.,  4th  s. ,  31.  455  ;  in 
the  New  Englander,  10.  90  ;  British  Quart.,  39.  31  ;  Fraser's  Mag.,  47. 
367;  Christ.  Ex.,  52.  141. 
THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA.     Boston  :  1855. 

Reviewed  by  Rev.  E.  E.  Hale  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  82.  272  ;  Dublin 
Univ.  Mag.,  47.  90  ;  Putnam's  Monthly,  6.  578  ;  London  Quart.  Rev.,  5. 
35  ;  Colburn's  New  Monthly,  106.  242  ;  Irish  Quart.,  6.  1  ;  Christ.  Ex., 
60.  133. 
THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH.     Boston  :  1858. 

With  "Birds  of  Passage,"  twenty-two  poems,  including  "My  Lost 
Youth,"  "The  Two  Angels,"  "Sandalphon,"  and  "The  Fiftieth  Birth 
day  of  Agassiz."     Reviewed  by  A.  P.  Peabody  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  88. 
275. 
TALES  OF  A  WAYSIDE  INN.     Boston  :  1863. 

"  First  Day,"  with  "Birds  of  Passage,  Flight  the  Second,"  seven  poems, 
including  "The  Children's  Hour"  and  "The  Cumberland."     Reviewed 
in  British  Quart.,  39,  31. 
FLOWER-DE-LUCE.     Boston :  1867. 

Twelve  poems. 

THE  NEW  ENGLAND  TRAGEDIES.     Boston  :  1868. 
I.  John  Endicott. 

II.  Giles  Cory  of  the  Salem  Farms. 

Reviewed  by  W.  F.  Poole  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  108,  395;  by  E.  J.  Cut 
ler  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  108.  669. 


APPENDIX.  425 

DANTE'S  DIVINE  COMEDY.    A  Translation.    Boston :  1867- 

70. 

Three  vols.  I.  Inferno.  II.  Purgatorio.  III.  Paradise.  The  same  in 
1  vol. 

Reviewed  by  C.  E.  Norton  in  North  Am.  Rev.,  105.  125;  by  G.  W. 
Greene  in  Atlantic  Monthly,  20.  188. 

THE  DIVINE  TRAGEDY.     Boston  :  1871. 

Reviewed  by  J.  H.  Allen  in  Christ.  Ex.,  83.  291;  Dublin  Rev.,  79. 
331. 

CHRISTUS  :  a  Mystery.     Boston  :  1872. 

Collecting,  for  the  first  time  into  their  consecutive  unity 

I.  The  Divine  Tragedy. 
II.  The  Golden  Legend. 
III.  The  New  England  Tragedies. 

THREE  BOOKS  OF  SONG.     Boston  :  1872. 

Contents:  "Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,  Second  Day  ;"  "Judas  Macca- 
bseus"  (a  dramatic  poem  in  five  acts);  and  "A  Handful  of  Translations," 
eleven  in  number. 

AFTERMATH.     Boston :  1874. 

Contents  :  "  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,  Third  Day,"  and  "  Birds  of  Pas 
sage,  Flight  the  Third." 

THE   MASQUE   OF  PANDORA,   and  Other  Poems.     Boston  : 

1875. 

Containing  "The  Hanging  of  the  Crane;"  "  Morituri  Salutamus," 
the  Bowdoin  College  poem  for  the  semi-centennial  of  the  author's  class 
of  1825;  "Birds  of  Passage,  Flight  the  Fourth;"  and  "A  Book  of 
Sonnets,"  fourteen  in  all.  (An  operatic  version  of  "The  Masque  of 
Pandora"  was  produced  on  the  Boston  stage  in  January,  1881.) 

[Editor.]     POEMS   OF  PLACES.     31  vols.      Boston :    1876- 

"  1879. 

KERAMOS  ;  and  Other  Poems.     Boston  :  1878. 

Contents:  A  "Fifth  Flight"  of  "Birds  of  Passage,"  sixteen  in  all, 
among  which  is  the  tribute  to  James  Russell  Lowell  entitled  "The  Herons 
of  Elmwood  ;  "  a  second  "  Book  of  Sonnets,"  nineteen  of  them,  including 
the  tributes  to  Whittier,  Tennyson,  Irving,  and  Cleaveland  ;  and  fifteen 
translations,  eight  from  Michael  Angelo. 

ULTIMA  THULE.     Boston  :  1880. 

Containing  the  poems  to  Bayard  Taylor  and  to  Burns  ;  and  those  on 
the  Children's  Chair,  the  Iron  Pen,  and  Old  St.  David's. 


426  APPENDIX. 

IN  THE  HARBOR.     Boston  :  1882. 

Published  after  the  author's  death,  and  containing  the  tributes  to 
J.  T.  Fields  and  President  Garfield,  seven  personal  poems,  and  the  "  Bells 
of  San  Bias,"  the  last  poem  written  by  Mr.  Longfellow. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO.     Boston  :  1883. 

Printed  after  the  Author's  death  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  afterward 
in  an  illustrated  volume. 

A  COMPLETE  EDITION  OF  MR.  LONGFELLOW'S  POETICAL 
AND  PROSE  WORKS,  in  11  volumes,  with  introductions 
and  notes,  was  published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin,  &  Co. 
Boston:  1866. 

GENERAL    REVIEWS. 

London  Quart.,  2.  440.  —  (A.  Trollope)  North  Am.  Rev., 
132.  383.  — (R.  H.  Stoddard)  Scribner's  Monthly,  17.  1.— 
(F.  F.  Browne)  Dial  (Chicago),  2.  275.  —  National  Review, 
8.  198  ;  same  article,  LittelVs  Living  Age,  60.  399.  —  Na 
tional  Magazine,  3.  1.  —  (E.  P.  Whipple)  North  Am.  Rev., 
58. 22.  —  (C.  C.  Felton)  North  Am.  Rev.,  55. 114.  —  (W.  D. 
Howells)  North  Am.  Rev.,  104.  531 .  —  London  Quart.,  17. 
45.  —  Dublin  Univ.  Mag.,  35.  461.  —  Eclectic  Rev.,  90.  710.  — 
Am.  Whig  Rev.,  13.  359.  —  Dublin  Rev.,  34.  359.  —  Cham 
bers 's  Journal,  22.  310 ;  same  article,  LittelVs  Living  Age, 
43.  522.  —  Irish  Quart.,  5.  193;  8.  915.  —  (C.  Clarkson) 
New  Dominion  Monthly,  18.  97.  — De  Bow,  26.  357.  —  (J.  F. 
Rusling)  Methodist  Quart.,  19.  568.  — With  portrait,  Eclectic 
Mag.,  49.  566  ;  84.  246.  —  Sharpens  London  Mag,,  39. 199.  — 
Victoria  Mag.,  12.  41.  —  So.  Lit.  Mess.,  8.  150  ;  11.  92.  — 
LittelVs  Living  Age,  19.  481. —  (G.  W.  Curtis)  Atlantic 
Monthly,  12.  769.  —  (E.  Montegut)  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes, 
Oct.  15,  1849.  —  (Ray  Palmer)  International  Rev.,  No 
vember,  1875.  —  (0.  B.  Frothingham)  Atlantic  Monthly,  49. 
819.  —  Atlantic  Monthly,  57.  702.  —  Quarterly,  October,  1886. 
—  London  Quart.,  October,  1886. 


APPENDIX.  427 

II. 

Translations  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  Works. 
GERMAN. 

Longfellow's  Gedichte.    tTbersetzt  von  Carl  Bottger.  Dessau : 

1856. 
Balladen  und  Lieder  von  H.  W.  Longfellow.     Deutsch  von 

A.  K.  Nielo.     Miinster :  1857. 
Longfelloitfs    Gedichte.      Von   Friedrich   Marx.      Hamburg 

und  Leipzig :  1868. 
Longfellow's  dltere  und  neuere  Gedichte  in  Auswald.    Deutsch 

von  Adolf  Laun.     Oldenburg  :  1879. 

Der  Spanische  Studente.     tTbersetzt  von  Karl  Bottger.    Des 
sau  :  1854. 

The  Same.     Von  Marie  Helene  Le  Maistre.     Dresden :  n.  d. 
The  Same.     tTbersetzt  von  Hafeli.     Leipzig  :  n.  d. 
Evangeline.     Aus  dem  Englischen.     Hamburg :  1857. 
The  Same.     Aus  dem  Englischen,  von  P.  J.  Belke.    Leipzig : 

1854. 
The    Same.     Mit    Anmerkungen    von    Dr.    0.   Dickmann. 

Hamburg :  n.  d. 
The   Same.     Eine   Erzahlung   aus   Acadien.    Von  Eduard 

Nickles.     Karlsruhe:  1862. 
The   Same.      "Obersetzt    von    Frank   Siller.      Milwaukee : 

1879. 

The  Same,     tTbersetzt  von  Karl  Knortz.     Leipzig:  n.  d. 
Longfellow's   Evangeline.     Deutsch  von   Heinrich  Viehoff. 

Trier:  1869. 
Die  Goldene  Legende.    Deutsch   von   Karl  Keck.     Wien  : 

1859. 
The  Same.     tTbersetzt  von  Elise  Freifrau  von  Hohenhausen. 

Leipzig:  1880. 
Das  Lied  von  Hiawatha.     Deutsch  von  Adolph  Bottger. 

Leipzig:  1856. 
Der  Sang  von  Hiawatha.     tTbersetzt  von  Ferdinand  Freili- 

grath.     Stuttgart  uud  Augsburg :  1857. 


428  APPENDIX. 

Hiawatha.   tTbertragen  von  Hermann  Simon.   Leipzig :  n.  d. 
Der  Sang  von  Hiawatha.     tTbersetzt,  eingeleitet  und  erklart 

von  Karl  Knortz.     Jena  :  1872. 
Miles  Standish's  Brautwerbung.     Aus  dem  Englischen  von 

F.  E.  Baumgarten.     St.  Louis  :  1859. 
Die  Brautwerbung  des  Miles  Standish.     tTbersetzt  von  Karl 

Knortz.     Leipzig  :  18 — . 
Miles  Standish 's  Brautwerbung.    tTbersetzt  von  F.  Manefeld. 

1867. 

Die  Sage  von  Kb'nig  Olaf.     tTbersetzt  von  Ernst  Rauscher. 
The  Same.     tTbersetzt  von  W.  Hertzberg. 
Gedichte  von  H.  W.  L.     Deutsch  von  Alexander  Neidhardt. 

Darmstadt:  1856. 

Hyperion.     Deutsch  von  Adolph  Bottger.     Leipzig :  1856. 
Pandora.     tTbersetzt  von  Isabella  Schuchardt.     Hamburg : 

1878. 
Morituri   Salutamus.     tTbersetzt   von   Dr.   Ernst   Schmidt. 

Chicago:  1878. 
The  Hanging  of  the  Crane.     Das  Kesselhdngen.     tTbersetzt 

von  G.  A.  Ziindt.     u.  d. 
The  Same.     Einhangen  des   Kesselhakens,  frei   gearbeitet 

von  Joh.  Henry  Becker,     n.  d. 
Sdmmtliche  Poetische  Werke  von  H.  W.  L.     tTbersetzt  von 

Hermann  Simon.     Leipzig :  n.  d. 

DUTCH. 

Outre   Mer  en  Kavanagh.     Haar  het  Engelisch,  B.  T.  L. 

Weddik.     Amsterdam:  1858. 
Het  Lied  van  Hiawatha.     In  het  Nederduitsch  overgebragt 

door  L.  S.  P.  Meijboom.     Amsterdam  :  1862. 
Miles  Standish.     Nagezongen   door   S.  J.  Van  den  Bergh. 

Haarlem:  1861. 
Longfellows  Gedighten.     Nagezongen  door   S.  J.  Van   den 

Bergh.     Haarlem  :  n.  d. 

SWEDISH. 

Hyperion.     Pa  Svenska,  af  Gronlund.     1853. 
Evangeline.     Pa  Svenska,  af  Alb.  Lysander.    1854. 


APPENDIX.  429 

The   Same.  Ofversatt   af  Hjalmar   Erdgren.     Giiteborg : 

1875. 

The  Same.  Ofversatt  af  Philip  Svenson.     Chicago  :  1875. 

Hiawatha.  Pa  Svenska  af  Westberg.     1856. 

DANISH. 

Evangeline.     Paa  Norsk,  ved  Sd.  C.  Knutsen.     Christiania : 

1874. 
Sangen  om  Hiawatha.  Oversat  af  G.  Bern.  Kjobenhavn  : 

1860. 
Den  Gyldne  Legende,  ved  Thor  Lange.  Kjobenhavn :  1880. 

FRENCH. 

Evangeline  ;  suivie  des  Voix  de  la  Nuit.     Par  le  Chevalier 

de  Chatelain.     Jersey,  London,  Paris,  New  York  :  1856. 
The  Same.    Conte  d'Acadie.     Traduit  par  Charles  Brunei. 

Prose.     Paris:  1864. 

The  Same.     Par  Le"on  Pamphile  Le  May.     Quebec :  1865. 
La  Legende  Doree,  et   Poemes  sur   1'Esclavage.     Traduits 

par  Paul  Blier  et  Edward  Mac-Donnel.     Prose.     Paris  et 

Valenciennes :  1854. 
Hiawatha.     Traduction   avec   notes   par   M.   H.    Gomont. 

Nancy,  Paris :  1860. 
Drames  et  Poesies.     Traduits  par  X.  Marmier.     (The  New 

England  Tragedies.)     Paris  :  1872. 
Hyperion  et  Kavanagh.     Traduit   de  FAnglais,  et  precede 

d'une  Notice  sur  1'Auteur.     2  vols.     Paris  et  Bruxelles  : 

1860. 
The  Psalm  of  Life,  and  Other  Poems.  Tr.  by  Lucien  de  la 

Rive  in  Essais  de  Traduction  Poetique.     Paris  :  1870. 

ITALIAN. 

• 

Alcune  Poesie  di  Enrico  W.  Longfellow.  Traduzione  dall' 
Inglese  di  Angelo  Messedaglia.  Padova :  1866. 

Lo  Studente  Spagnuolo.  Prima  Versione  Metrica  di  Alessan- 
dro  Bazzini.  Milano  :  1871. 


430  APPENDIX. 

The  Same.     Traduzione  di  Nazzareno  Trovanelli.     Firenze : 

1876. 
Poesie  sulla  Schiavitu.     Tr.  in  Versi  Italian!  da  Louisa  Grace 

Bartolini.     Firenze  :  1860. 

Evangelina.  Tradotta  da  Pietro  Rotondi.  Firenze  :  1856. 
The  Same.  Traduzione  di  Carlo  Faccioli.  Verona  :  1873. 
La  Leggenda  a"  Oro.  Tradotta  da  Ada  Corbellini  Martini. 

Parma:  1867. 
II  Canto  d'  Hiawatha.     Tr.  da  L.  G.  Bartolini.     Frammenti. 

Firenze:  1867. 
Miles  Standish.     Traduzione  dall'  Inglese  di  Caterino  Frat- 

tini.    Padova:  1868. 

PORTUGUESE. 

El  Rei  Roberto  de  Sicilia.     Tr.  by  Dorn  Pedro  II.,  Emperor 

of  Brazil.     Autograph  MS. 
Evangelina.     Traduzida  por  Franklin  Doria.     Rio  de  Jan-' 

eiro:  1874. 
The  Same.     Poema  de  Henrique  Longfelloiv.     Traducido  por 

Miguel  Street  de  Arriaga.     Lisbon :  n.  d. 

SPANISH. 

Evangelina.  Romance  de  la  Acadia.  Traducido  del  Ingles 
por  Carlos  M6rla  Vicuna.  Nueva  York  :  1871. 

POLISH. 

Zlota  Legenda.  The  Golden  Legend.  Tr.  into  Polish  by 
F.  Jerzierski.  Warszawa  :  1857. 

Evangelina.  Tr.  into  Polish  by  Felix  Jerzierski.  Wars 
zawa  :  1857. 

Duma  o  Hiawacie.  (The  Song  of  Hiawatha.)  Tr.  into 
Polish  by  Feliksa  Jerzierskiego.  Warszawa :  1860. 

OTHER   LANGUAGES. 

Excelsior,  and  Other  Poems,  in  Russian.  St.  Petersburg : 
n.  d. 

Hiawatha,  rendered  into  Latin,  with  abridgment.  By  Fran 
cis  William  Newman.  London  :  1862. 


APPENDIX. 


431 


Excelsior.     Tr.  into  Hebrew  by  Henry  Gersoni.  n.  d. 

A  Psalm  of  Life.     In  Marathi.     By  Mrs.  H.  I.  Bruce.     Sa- 

tara:  1878. 
The  Same.     In  Chinese.     By  Jung  Tagen.     Written  on  a 

fan. 
The  Same.     In  Sanscrit.     By  Elihu  Burritt  and  his  pupils. 

MS. 


III. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  Poems,  under  their  Dates  of  Composition. 

[Those  marked  (*)  were  not  included  by  him  in  his  works.    Translations  are  omitted.] 


1820.  *The  Battle  of  Lovell's  Pond. 

1824.  *To  lanthe. 
*Thanksgiving. 
*Autumnal  Nightfall. 
•Italian  Scenery. 

An  April  Day. 

Autumn. 

Woods  in  Winter. 

1825.  *The  Lunatic  Girl. 
*The  Venetian  Gondolier. 
*The  Angler's  Song. 
Sunrise  on  the  Hills. 
Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns. 
*Dirge  over  a  Nameless  Grave. 
*A  Song  of  Savoy. 

'    *The  Indian  Hunter. 
*0de  for  the  Commemoration 

of  Lovewell's  Fight. 
*Jeckoyva. 
*The  Sea-Diver. 
*Musings. 

The  Spirit  of  Poetry. 
Burial  of  the  Minnisink. 

1826.  *Song,  "Where,  from  the  eye 

of  day." 
*Song  of  the  Birds. 

1837.  Flowers. 

1838.  A  Psalm  of  Life. 

The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers. 
The  Light  of  Stars. 

1839.  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus. 
The  Village  Blacksmith. 


Prelude  to  Voices  of  the  Night. 
Hymn  to  the  Night. 
Footsteps  of  Angels. 
The  Beleaguered  City. 
Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying 

Year. 
L' Envoi  to  Voices  of  the  Night. 

1840.  It  is  not  always  May. 
The  Spanish  Student. 
The  Skeleton  in  Armor 

1841.  Endymion. 
The  Rainy  Day. 
God's  Acre. 

To  the  River  Charles. 
Blind  Bartimeus. 
The  Goblet  of  Life. 
Maidenhood. 
Excelsior. 

1842.  Mezzo  Cammin. 

To  William  E.  Channing. 

The  Slave's  Dream. 

The  Good  Part. 

The     Slave    in     the     Dismal 

Swamp. 

The  Slave  singing  at  Midnight. 
The  Witnesses. 
The  Quadroon  Girl. 
The  Warning. 
The  Belfry  of  Bruges. 
1844.  A  Gleam  of  Sunshine. 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield. 
Nuremberg. 


432 


APPENDIX. 


The  Norman  Baron. 

Rain  in  Summer. 

Sea-weed. 

The  Day  is  Done. 

1845.  To  a  Child. 

The  Occultation  of  Orion. 

The  Bridge. 

To  the  Driving  Cloud. 

Carillon. 

Afternoon  in  February. 

To  an  Old  Danish  Song- Book. 

Walter  von  der  Vogelweid. 

Drinking  Song. 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs. 

The  Arrow  and  the  Song. 

The  Evening  Star  (sonnet). 

Autumn  (sonnet). 

Daute  (sonnet). 

Curfew. 

Birds  of  Passage. 

The  Haunted  Chamber. 

Evangeline  (begun). 

1846.  The  Builders. 
Pegasus  in  Pound. 
Twilight. 

1847.  Tegner's  Drapa. 
Evangeline  (finished). 

1848.  Hymn  for  my  Brother's  Ordi 

nation. 

The  Secret  of  the  Sea. 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert. 
The  Fire  of  Drift- Wood. 
The  Castle-Builder. 
Eesignation. 
Sand  of  the  Desert. 
The  Open  Window. 
King  Witlafs  Drinking-Horn. 

1849.  Dedication  to  the  Seaside  and 

the  Fireside. 

The  Building  of  the  Ship. 

Chrysaor. 

The  Challenge  of  Thor  (Way 
side  Inn).' 

The  Lighthouse. 

Caspar  Becerra. 

Sonnet  on  Mrs.  Kemble's  Read 
ings  from  Shakespeare. 

Children. 


The  Singers. 

The  Brook  and  the  Ware. 

Suspiria. 

1850.  The  Golden  Legend  (begun). 
The  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine. 
The  Phantom  Ship. 

1851.  In   the    Churchyard   at    Cam 

bridge. 
The  Golden  Legend  (finished). 

1852.  The   Warden    of    the    Cinque 

Ports. 

Haunted  Houses. 

The  Emperor's  Bird's-Nest. 

Daylight  and  Moonlight. 

The  Jewish  Cemetery  at  New 
port. 

1853.  The  Two  Angels. 
]*854.  The  Ropewalk. 

The  Golden  Milestone. 
Becalmed. 
Catawba  Wine. 
Prometheus. 
Epimetheus. 
Hiawatha  (bjgun). 

1855.  Hiawatha  (finished). 
Oliver  Basselin. 
Victor  Galbraith. 
My  Lost  Youth. 

1856.  John  Endicott  (begun). 

1857.  John  Endicott  (finished). 
Santa.  Filomena. 

The  Discoverer  of  the  North 
Cape. 

Daybreak. 

The  Fiftieth  Birthday  of  Agas- 
siz. 

Sandalphon. 

The  Courtship  of  Miles  Stan- 
dish  (begun). 

1858.  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Stan- 
dish  (finished). 

1859.  The  Children's  Hour. 
*Twelfth  Night. 
Enceladus. 
Snow-Flakes. 

The  Bells  of  Lynn. 

1860.  Paul  Revere's  Ride   (Wayside 

Inn). 


APPENDIX. 


433 


The  Saga  of  King  Olaf  (Way 
side  Inn). 
A  Day  of  Sunshine. 

1861.  Interlude,  '  A  Strain  of  Music  ' 

(Wayside  Inn). 

1862.  Prelude:  The  Wayside  Inn. 
The  Legend  of  Rabbi  Ben  Levi 

(Wayside  Inn). 
King  Robert  of  Sicily  (Wayside 

Inn). 

Torquemada  (Wayside  Inn). 
The  Cumberland. 

1863.  Five  Interludes  to    the   First 

Part  of  Tales  of  a  Wayside 

Inn. 
The  Falcon    of  Ser  Federigo 

(Wayside  Inn). 
The    Birds    of    Killingworth. 

(Wayside  Inn). 
Finale  to  Part  First  of  Tales  of 

a  Wayside  Inn. 
Something  Left  Undone. 
Weariness. 

1864.  Palingenesis. 

The  Bridge  of  Cloud. 

Hawthorne. 

Christmas  Bells. 

The  Wind  over  the  Chimney. 

Divina  Commedia  (Sonnets  I., 

II.). 

Noel  (To  Agassiz). 
•  Kambalu  (Wayside  Inn). 

1865.  Divina      Commedia      (Sonnet 

III.). 

1866.  Flower-de-Luce. 
Killed  at  the  Ford. 
Giotto's  Tower  (sonnet). 
To-morrow. 

Divina  Commedia  (Sonnets  V., 
VI.). 

1867.  Divina  Commedia  (Sonnet  IV.). 

1868.  Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem  Farms. 
1870.  Prelude  to  Part  II.  of  Wayside 

Inn. 

The  Bell  of  Atri  (Wayside  Inn). 
Fata  Morgana. 
The  Meeting. 
Vox  PopulL 


1871. 


1872. 


1873. 


1874. 


Prelude  to  Translations. 

The  Divine  Tragedy  (begun). 

The  Cobbler  of  Hagenau  (Way 
side  Inn). 

The  Ballad  of  Carmilhan  (Way- 
side  Inn). 

Lady  Wentworth  (Wayside 
Inn). 

The  Legend  Beautiful  (Way 
side  Inn). 

The  Baron  of  St.  Castine  (Way 
side  Inn). 

Judas  Maccabseus. 

The  Abbot  Joachim  (Christus). 

Martin  Luther  (Christus). 

St.  John  (finale  to  Christus). 

The  Divine  Tragedy  (finished). 

Introitus  to  Christus. 

Interludes  and  Finale  to  Part 
II.  of  Wayside  Inn. 

Michael  Angelo  (first  draft). 

Azrael  (Wayside  Inn). 

Charlemagne  (Wayside  Inn). 

Emma  and  Eginhard  (Wayside 
Inn). 

Prelude,  Interludes,  and  Fi 
nale  to  Part  III.  of  Wayside 
Inn. 

Elizabeth  (Wayside  Ina). 

The  Monk  of  Casal-Maggiore 
(Wayside  Inn). 

Scanderbeg  (Wayside  Inn). 

The  Rhyme  of  Sir  Christopher 
(Wayside  Inn). 

Michael  Angelo  (monologue). 

The  Last  Judgment :  Palazzo 
Cesarini :  The  Oaks  of  Monte 
Luca. 

The  Challenge. 

Aftermath. 

The  Hanging  of  the  Crane. 

Chaucer  (sonnet). 

Shakespeare  (sonnet). 

Milton  (sonnet). 

Keats  (sonnet). 

Charles  Sumner. 

Travels  by  the  Fireside. 

Cadenabbia. 


28 


434 


APPENDIX. 


Autumn  Within. 

Monte  Cassino. 

Morituri  Salutamus. 

Three  Friends  of  Mine  (sonnets). 

The  Galaxy  (sonnet). 

The  Sound  of  the  Sea  (sonnet). 

The  Tides  (sonnet). 

A  Summer  Day  by  the  Sea. 

A  Shadow  (sonnet). 

A  Nameless  Grave  (sonnet). 

The  Old  Bridge  at  Florence. 

II  Ponte  Vecchio  di  Firenze. 

Michael  Angelo  ;  Vittoria  Co- 
lonna  :  Palazzo  Belvedere  : 
Bindo  Altoviti :  In  the  Coli 
seum  (Michael  Angelo). 

1875.  Amalfi. 

The  Sermon  of  St.  Francis. 

Belisarius. 

Songo  River. 

The  Masque  of  Pandora. 

Sleep. 

1876.  Parker  Cleaveland. 

The  Herons  of  Elmwood. 

To  the  Avon. 

A  Dutch  Picture. 

The  Revenge  of  Rain-in-the- 
Face. 

To  the  River  Yvette. 

A  Wraith  in  the  Mist. 

Nature  (sonnet). 

In  the  Churchyard  at  Tarry- 
town  (sonnet). 

Eliot's  Oak  (sonnet). 

The  Descent  of  the  Muses 
(sonnet). 

Venice  (sonnet). 

The  Poets  (sonnet). 

The  Harvest  Moon  (sonnet). 

To  the  River  Rhone  (sonnet). 

The  Two  Rivers  (sonnets). 

Boston  (sonnet). 

St.  John's,  Cambridge  (sonnet). 

Moods  (sonnet). 

Woodstock  Park  (sonnet). 

The  Four  Princesses  at  Wilua 
(sonnet). 

The  Broken  Oar  (sonnet). 


The  Four  Lakes  of  Madison. 
Victor  and  Vanquished  (son 
net). 

1877.  Keranios. 
Castles  in  Spain. 
Vittoria  Colonna. 

A  Ballad  of  the  French  Fleet. 

The  Leap  of  Roushan  Beg. 

Haroun  al  Raschid. 

King  Trisanku. 

The  Three  Kings. 

Song,  "Stay,  stay  at  home." 

The  Three  Silences  of  Molinos 
(sonnet  ;  to  Whittier). 

Holidays  (sonnet). 

Wapentake  (sonnet ;  to  Ten 
nyson  ) . 

1878.  The  Emperor's  Glove. 

The  Poet's  Calendar  ;  March. 

The  White  Czar. 

Delia. 

The  Chamber  over  the  Gate. 

Moonlight. 

Bayard  Taylor. 

1879.  The  Cross  of  Snow  (sonnet). 
From  my  Arm-chair. 
Jugurtha. 

The  Iron  Pen. 

Helen  of  Tyre. 

The  Sifting' of  Peter. 

The  Tide  rises,  the  Tide  falls. 

My  Cathedral  (sonnet). 

The  Burial  of  the  Poet  (sonnet ; 

R.  H.  Dana). 
Night  (sonnet). 
The  Children's  Crusade. 
Sundown. 
Chimes  (sonnet). 
Robert  Burns. 

1880.  Dedication  to  Ultima  Thule. 
Elegiac. 

Old  St.  David's  at  Radnor. 

Maiden  and  Weathercock. 

The  Windmill. 

Four  by  the  Clock. 

The  Poet  and  his  Songs  (Envoi). 

The  Poet's  Calendar  (parts). 

Elegiac  Verse. 


APPENDIX. 


435 


1881.  Elegiac  Verse. 

The  Poet's  Calendar  (parts). 
Aul'Wiedersehen  (J.  T.  Fields). 
The  City  and  the  Sea. 
Memories  (sonnet). 
My  Books  (sonnet). 


President  Garfield  (sonnet). 
Hermes  Trismegistus. 
1882.   Possibilities  (sonnet). 
Mad  River. 
Decoration  Day. 
The  Bells  of  San  Bias. 


III. 


HONORARIUM. 

Some  interest  is  attached  in  literary  history  to  the  payment 
received  by  authors.  For  his  early  poems,  published  during 
the  last  year  of  his  college  course,  in  the  United  States  Literary 
Gazette,  Mr.  Longfellow  received  sometimes  one  dollar,  some 
times  two,  according  to  their  length;  this  was  in  1825.  In 
1840-1841,  'The  Village  Blacksmith,'  '  Endymion,'  and  'God's 
Acre,'  brought  him  $15  each  ;  'The  Goblet  of  Life'  and  'The 
River  Charles,'  $20  each.  Then,  in  1844,  for  'The  Gleam  of 
Sunshine,'  '  The  Arsenal,'  and  '  Nuremberg,'  he  received  $50 
each.  This  remained  the  price  up  to  '  The  Ladder  of  Saint 
Augustine'  and  'The  Phantom  Ship,'  in  1850.  After  this  there 
is  no  record  ;  but  later  on  he  began  to  receive  $100  or  $150 
for  a  poem.  The  Harpers  paid  $1,000  for  '  Keramos,'  and  the 
same  for  '  Morituri  Salutamus ; '  Bonner,  of  the  Ledger,  $3,000 
for  '  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane.'  Mr.  Longfellow  noted  his 
income  from  his  writings  in  1840  as  $219;  in  1842  it  was 
$517  ;  in  1845  (the  year  of  the  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America), 
$2,800;  in  1846,  $1,800;  the  next  year,  $1,100;  in  1850, 
$1,900 ;  then  $2,500  and  $1,100  ;  and  there  the  record  stops. 


436 


APPENDIX. 


IV. 


A  JEU  D'ESPRIT. 

The  following  are  the  verses  mentioned  on  page  79  as  sent  to 
Mr.  Lowell  when  he  excused  himself  from  a  Dante  Club  meet 
ing  on  account  of  a  sore  throat :  — 

ALL'  ILLUSTRISSIMO  SIGNOR  PROFESSORS  LOWELL: 

PRESCRIZIONE   PER   IL   MAL   DI   GOLA. 


"  Benedetto 

Quel  Claretto 
Che  si  spilla  in  Avignone," 

Dice  Redi  ; 

Se  non,  vedi 
La  famosa  sua  Canzone. 

Questo  vino 

L'  Aretino 
Loda  certo  con  ragione  ; 

Ma  sta  fresco 

Ser  Francesco 
Se  '1  migliore  lo  suppone. 


Con  qualunque 

Vino,  dunque, 
Tinto  che  dall'  uvo  cola, 

Mescolato 

Ed  acquato, 
Gargarizza  ben  la  gola. 

T'  assicuro 

E  ti  giuro, 
(Uomo  son  di  mia  parola) 

II  dolore, 

Professore, 
Tutto  subito  s'  invola. 


KISPOSTA  DEL   SIGNOR  PROFESSORE. 

Ho  provato 

Quest'  acquato 
Vino  tinto  della  Francia, 

E  s'  invola 

Dalla  gola 
II  dolore  alia  pancia ! 


Such  jeux  d' 'esprit  hardly  bear  translation.      Those  who  do 
not  read  Italian  may  put  up  with  the  following :  — 


APPENDIX. 


437 


PRESCRIPTION   FOR  A  SORE   THROAT. 


"  Benedight 

That  claret  light 
Which  is  tapped  in  Avignone  ; " 

Redi  said  it ; 

Who  don't  credit, 
Let  him  read  the  famed  Canzone. 

This  same  wine 

The  Aretine 
Justly  praises  as  he  drinks  it  ; 

And  yet  but  poor 

His  taste,  I  'm  sure, 
If  the  best  of  wines  he  thinks  it. 


Take  this  or  another 

(Make  no  bother), 
Any  red  wine  in  your  bottle, 

Mixed  with  water 

Of  any  sort  or 
Kind ;  then  gargle  well  your  throt  tie. 

I  assure  you 

It  will  cure  you 
(Me  a  man  of  my  word  you'll  own) ; 

Your  distress  or 

Pain,  Professor, 
All  of  a  sudden  will  have  flowu. 


ANSWER   OF   THE    PROFESSOR. 

Quite  delighted, 

Quick  I  tried  it,  — 
Your  red  wine  of  Avignon'  ; 

When,  like  a  bullet, 

Out  of  my  gullet 
Into  my  paunch  the  pain  has  flown  ! 


V. 

THE  FIRST  CLOSE  OF  THE 

SHIP; 


BUILDING   OF   THE 


The  original  ending  of  the  '  Building  of  the  Ship,'  referred  to 
on  page  319,  was  this  :  — 

How  beautiful  she  is  !     How  still 
She  lies  within  these  arms  that  press 
Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress  ! 
Modelled  with  such  perfect  skill. 
Fashioned  with  such  watchful  care  ! 
But,  alas  !  oh,  what  and  where 
Shall  be  the  end  of  a  thin?  so  fair  1 


438  APPENDIX. 

Wrecked  upon  some  treacherous  rock, 
Or  rotting  in  some  noisome  dock,  — 
Such  the  end  must  be  at  length 
Of  all  this  loveliness  and  strength. 

They  who  with  transcendent  power 
Build  the  great  cathedral  tower, 
Build  the  palaces  and  domes, 
Temples  of  God  and  princes'  homes, 
These  leave  a  record  and  a  name. 
But  he  who  builds  the  stately  ships, 
The  palaces  of  sea  and  air, 
When  he  is  buried  in  his  grave 
Leaves  no  more  trace  or  mark  behind 
Than  the  sail  does  in  the  wind, 
Than  the  keel  does  in  the  wave. 
He  whose  dexterous  hand  could  frame 
All  this  beauty,  all  this  grace, 
In  a  grave  without  a  name 
Lies  forgotten  of  his  race  ! 


VI. 

THE  TWO   INKSTANDS. 


Mention  has  been  made  (on  p.  194)  of  the  inkstand  once 
belonging  to  the  poet  S.  T.  Coleridge,  and  bearing  his  name  on 
a  small  ivory  plate  inserted  in  the  black  wood. 


APPENDIX.  439 

To  General  James  Grant  Wilson,  who  brought  it  from  Eng 
land,  Mr.  Longfellow  wrote  :  — 

"  Your  letter  and  the  valuable  present  of  Mr.  S.  C.  Hall  have 
reached  me  safely.  Please  accept  my  best  thanks  for  the  great  kind 
ness  you  have  shown  in  taking  charge  of  it  and  bringing  from  the 
Old  World  a  gift  so  precious  as  the  inkstand  of  the  poet  who  wrote 
the  '  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.'  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
send  me  the  present  address  of  Mr.  Hall  ?  .  .  .  " 

This  was  in  1872.  Mr.  Hall  wrote  to  Mr.  Longfellow  in 
1878:- 

"  It  rejoices  me  to  know  that  you  value  so  much  the  common  ink 
stand  of  Coleridge,  which  I  had  the  honor  to  give  you.  I  have  an 
other  inkstand,  —  the  one  to  which  Moore  wrote  some  very  beautiful 
lines,  '  To  the  Inkstand  of  the  poet  George  Crabbe.'  It  was  be 
queathed  to  me  by  Moore's  widow,  and  I  have,  in  Moore's  hand 
writing,  a  copy  of  the  poem.  On  Crabbe's  death  his  son  presented 
it  to  Moore.  I  do  not  like  to  part  with  it  before  we  die,  for  Mrs. 
Hall  uses  it  daily  ;  but  I  shall  bequeath  it  to  you." 

After  Mrs.  Hall's  death  the  ink 
stand  was  sent  to  Mr.  Longfellow. 
Mr.  Hall  wrote,  "  I  send  you  the 
poem  in  Moore's  handwriting ; 1 
also  I  send  you  a  letter  from  the 
son  of  Crabbe,  presenting  the  ink 
stand  to  Moore."  It  is  in  bronze, 
handsomely  chased,  and  surmount 
ed  by  a  cupid,  much  more  in 
keeping  with  the  songs  of  Moore 
than  with  the  sober  and  often 

sombre  Tales  of  Crabbe.     Both  these  inkstands  Mr.  Longfellow 
kept  upon  his  study  table,  but  he  did  not  use  them.     His  own 

1  These  are  the  lines  beginning  :  — 

' '  All  as  he  left  it !  ev'n  the  pen 

So  lately  at  that  mind's  command, 
Carelessly  lying,  as  if  then 
Just  fallen  from  his  gifted  hand." 

There  are  eighteen  stanzas,  the  last  half  of  them  written  in  pencil.  It 
is  the  first  draft,  written  in  a  notebook. 


440  APPENDIX. 

was  of  French  china,  with  a  screw-top  for  raising  or  lowering 
the  ink.  His  pens  —  he  used  only  quills — were  in  a  glass  of 
water  close  by. 

Mr.  Hall  also  sent  Mr.  Longfellow  the  waste-paper  basket 
which  had  been  in  Moore's  use,  —  a  small  basket  to  be  placed 
upon,  not  under,  a  writing  table. 


VII. 

THE  MOTTO. 

Upon  one  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  book-plates  was  engraved  the 
motto  "  Non  clamor  sed  amor."  It  was  taken  from  the  follow 
ing  verse  which  he  had  found,  without  any  author's  name,  in 
one  of  his  books  :  — 

"  Non  vox  sed  votum, 
Non  chorda  sed  cor, 
Non  clamor  sed  amor, 
Clangit  in  aure  Dei." 

Not  voice  but  vow, 
Not  harp-string  but  heart-string, 
Not  loudness  but  love, 
Sounds  in  the  ear  of  God. 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


A. 

ABERDEEN,  Earl  of,  52. 

Ackland,  Henry,  288. 

Addison,  Joseph,  214. 

Agassiz,  Louis,  54,  57,  91,  94,  98,  102, 

132,  141, 151, 160, 169,  174,  194, 198, 

205,  352. 

Aigues  Mortes,  61,  63. 
Alabama  and  Kearsarge,  72. 
Albany,  Countess  of,  56. 
Aldrich,  T.  B.,  126. 
Alexis,  Grand  Duke,  171,  330. 
Alfieri,  183,  313. 
Allingham,  William,  260. 
Allston,  Washington,  401. 
Alvord,  Benjamin,  259. 
'  Amain,'  230. 
Amberley,  Lord,  101. 
Andersen,  Hans  Christian,  131,  166. 
Andrtf,  John,  249. 
Angelo,  Michael,  quoted,  207. 
Anthology,   Greek,  96  ;   verses  from, 

385. 

Appleton,  Charles,  242. 
Appleton,  T.  G.,  50.  73,  142,  182,  257; 

letters  from,  48,  72,  189,  215,  216, 

226,  230,  234,  238,  394. 
Arabic  Proverbs,  387. 
Arcadia,  The  Society,  245. 
Argyll,  Dnke  of,  53,  286,  347. 
Argyll,  Duchess  of,  110. 
Ariosto,  96. 

Aristophanes,  The  Frogs  of,  261. 
Arsenieff,  Lieutenant,  259. 
Arthur,  President,  303. 
Atlantic.  Monthly,  268. 
Auteuil,  10. 
Autographs,  153, 155,  264,  276,  318, 347. 


B. 

'  BALLAD  OF  THE  FRENCH  FLEET,' 

250,  267. 

Bancroft,  George.  23. 
'Baron  Castine,'  174. 
Bartholdi,  Auguste,  166. 


Bates,  Miss  C.  F.,  299. 

'  Bell  of  Atri,'  The,  129. 

Beck,  Charles,  82. 

Beethoven,  259. 

Bernhardt,  Sara,  299. 

Berry,  Miss  Mary,  304. 

Bibliographv,  421. 

Black,  William,  249. 

Bonchurch,  108. 

Bone,  J.  H.  A.,  337. 

Books,  224. 

Bores,  ,143,  196,  199,333. 

Bowditch,  H.  I.,  397. 

Bremer,  Frederika,  31. 

Bright,  H.  A.,  42.  73,  233,  371,  399. 

Brighton  Meadows,  135,  142,  326. 

Browning,  Mrs.  E.  B.,  48. 

Browning,  Robert,  48,  72,  153. 

Bruce,  Sir  Frederic,  99,  100. 

Brunswick,  240. 

Bryant,  W.  C.,  251,  261,  271,  402. 

Buffon,  327. 

'Building  of  the  Ship,'  121,  260,  297. 

362,  437. 

Bull,  Ole,  156,  260,  296,  320. 
Burns,  Robert,  233,  291;  festival,  316. 
Bushnell,  Horace,  letter  from,  178. 


C. 

CADENABBIA,  112,  119-121,  216. 

Calvinists,  180. 

Cantagalli,  Romeo,  90. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  39,  50,  198. 

'Carmilhan,'  162. 

Chair,  the  Children's,  284,  285. 

•'  Chamber  over  the  Gate,'  279. 

Charming,  W.  E.,  9. 

'Charles  Sumner,'  211. 

'  Charlemagne,'  186. 

Children,  322. 

Childs,  G.  W.,  247,  258. 

"Christus,"  153,  159,  182. 

'  Clock  on  the  Stairs,'  362. 

Clocks  in  Craigie  House,  261,  402- 

Clough,  A.  H.,  38,  40. 

'  Cobbler  of  Hagenau,'  191. 


444 


INDEX. 


Co-education,  273. 

Cogswell,  J.  G.,  79,  91, 165,  223. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  124,  194,  403. 

Collins,  Wilkie,  208,  209. 

Collyer,  Robert,  182,  420. 

Comvay,  M.  D.,  73,  351. 

Cooper",  J.  F.,  313. 

Copyright,  International,  82,  89,  251. 

Coquerel,  Athanase,  171,  172. 

Corneille's  'Cid,'  196. 

Craigie  House,  193,  345,  401. 

Cranch,  C.  P.,  162. 

Crawford,  Thomas,  14. 

Critics,  296,  310,  372. 

Criticism,  311. 

Curtis,  G.  W.,  66, 95, 122, 148, 228,  257. 

D. 

DANA,  R.  H.,  209,  220. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  Jr.,  63, 106,  256,  286. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  3d,  254,  286. 

Dante,  76,  78,  81,  83,  133,  139, 190,  344, 

405;  translation  of,  74,  75,  80,  87,  88, 

91,  92,  93,  96,  103. 
Dante  Club,  79,  80,  81,  89,  91,  322,  323, 

337,  395. 

Dante's  coffin,  190.  348. 
Derby,  Mrs.  R.,  56. 
De  Stael,  Madame,  299. 
Dickens,  Charles,  18,  102,  103, 106, 107, 

135,  198. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin,  135. 
"Divine    Tragedy,"    The,    150,    151, 

171-174,  176,  178,  330,  331. 
Dixon,  Hepworth,  88. 
Dobson,  Austin,  405. 
Dommett,  Alfred,  272. 
Dom  Pedro,  Emperor,  247,  295. 
Dryden,  John,  160,  162. 
Ducis,  anecdote  of,  307. 
Dufferin,  Lord,  220,  271. 

E. 

'  EGYPT  '  (fragment),  384. 
Eliot,  C.  W.,  135,  142. 
Eliot,  Samuel,  182,  184,  203. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  29,  60,  149,  154,  155, 

158,  247,  266,  331,  404. 
Empoli,  185. 
Epitaph  on  a  Maid,  248. 
Epigrams,  327. 
Erckmann-Chatrian,  96. 
Europe,  last  visit  to,  108,  326. 
'  Evangeline,'  21,  22,  23,  27,  28,  52,  84, 

259,  346,  365,  371. 
Evans's  supper-rooms,  49. 
Everett,  Edward,  23,  30. 
Everett,  William,  145,  147. 
'  Excelsior,'  67,  171,  361. 


F. 

FECHTER,  Charles,  73, 130,  131,  134. 
Felton,  C.  C.,  12,  24,  35,  222,  404. 
Ferguson,  Robert,  92,  124. 
Fields,  J.  T.,  44,  98,  111,  113, 117,  258, 

272,  300,  301,  305,   338;   letters  to, 

137,  156,  161, 163, 190,  262,  264,  269, 

276,  287,  290. 
Fields,  Mrs.  J.  T.,  305;  letters  to,  108, 

120,  191,  206,  243,  253,  265,  285,  295 ; 

her  reminiscences  of  H.  W.  L.,  315. 
Florence,  114. 
Forrest,  Edwin,  332. 
Forster,  John,  28. 
France  and  Prussia,  141,  143. 
Freiligrath,  Ferdinand,  27,  47,  93,  97, 

203,  256. 

Froude,  Anthony,  197. 
Furness,  W.  H.,  48. 


G. 

GARFIELD,  President,  302. 

Genealogy,  Longfellow,  415. 

Gerolt,  Baron,  87. 

Gerster,  Madame  Etelka,  280. 

Gladstone,  W.  E.,  110. 

Goethe,  195,  328,  401 ;  quoted,  289. 

"  Golden  Legend,"  The,  34. 

Gounod's  '  Faust,'  161. 

Gower,  Lord  Ronald,  277. 

Grant,  President,  172. 

Granville,  Earl,  407. 

Gray,  Thomas,  402,  409. 

Gray,  Asa,  265. 

Gray,  G.  Z.,  266. 

'Great  and  Small,'  383. 

Greene,  G.  W.,257,  274,  405  ;  letters  to, 
6,  7,  14,  74,  76,  78,  79,  80-83,  85,  86, 
87,  109,  136,  147,  158,  166,  180,  182, 
184,  186,  193,  194,  195, 197,  198,  199, 
200,  207,  209,  210,  211,  213,  214,  219, 
220,  221-226,  229,  236,  240,  241,  242, 
244,  247,  248,  249,  254,  260,  261,  263, 
270,  271,  273,  274,  275,  278,  280,  281, 
282,  284,  289,  293,  294, 296,  299,  300- 
305,  397-399. 

Green,  W.  M.,  278. 

Grimm,  Hermann,  183. 

Gu(5rin,  Maurice  de,  68. 


H. 

'HAGAK,'  177. 

Hale,  E.  E.,  256. 

Hall,  Newman,  99. 

'  Hanging  of  the  Crane,'  205,  206,  208, 

214,  223,  225. 
Harte.  Bret,  155,  156. 


INDEX. 


445 


Haskins,  D.  G.,  266. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  67,  135,   313, 

391,  393,  402,  404;  letters  from,  10, 

24,  29,  42,  74. 
Heber,  Reginald,  420. 
Hedge,  F.  H.,  192,  193. 
'  Hermes  Trismegistus,'  307. 
'  Herons  of  Elmwood,'  357. 
« Hiawatha,'  45,  47,  350,  352,  360. 
Hillard,  G.  S.,  28,  66,  262. 
'  Holidays,'  sonnet  on,  260. 
Holland;  H.  W.,  278. 
Holland,  Sir  Henry,  123. 
Holmes,  O.  W.,  101, 149,  279,  281, 330, 

332,  359;  letters  to,  388-390. 
Honorarium,  435. 
Hooker,  Sir  Joseph,  265. 
Horace,  192,  193. 
Horsford,  E.  N.,  156. 
Houghton,  H.  O.,  148,  299. 
Houghton,  Lord,  297. 
"House  of  Seven  Gables,"  391. 
Howe,  Mrs.  Julia  Ward,  159,  160. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  81,  135,  221,  226,  341. 
Hughes,  Thomas,  141,  145,  397. 
Hugo,  Victor,  128,  202,  327. 
Hunold  (of  Innsbruck),  67. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  '  The  Trumpets  of  Dool- 

karnein,'  316. 
"  Hyperion,"  26,  34,279. 


I. 


ILIAD,  translation  from,  202,  335. 

Imola,  Benvenuto,  303. 

Inkstands  of  Coleridge,  etc.,  194,  405, 

438,  439. 

Irving,  Washington,  33. 
Italy,  111,  260. 


J. 

JAMES,  G.  P.  R.,  letter  from,  34. 
James,  Henry,  131,  221. 
Janin,  Jules,"  324.  326,  400. 
Jasmin,  Jacques,  35,  59,  63. 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  332. 
Jewett,  Miss  S.  O.,  299. 
'  Judas  Maccabeus,'  175,  177. 
Julius,  N.  H.,  9. 


K. 

KEATS,  quoted,  275. 
'  Keramos,'  260,  262,  287. 
'  Killed  at  the  Ford,'  397. 
Kingslev,  Charles,  208. 
Kitson,  bust  by,  286. 
Knighthood,  Order  of,  90. 


L. 

'LADY  WENT  WORTH,'  160, 161,  329. 

Lamartine,  Alphonse  de,  38,  114,  149, 
327. 

Lawrence,  Samuel,  portrait  by,  44,  314. 

'Leap  of  Kurroglon '  (Roushan  Beg), 
263. 

'  Legend  Beautiful,'  162. 

Leopold,  King,  52. 

Lewes,  Mrs.  M.  E.,  134. 

Locke,  quotation  from,  187. 

Longfellow,  A.  W.,  137,  156. 

Longfellow,  C.  A.,  341,  397. 

Longfellow,  Edward,  415. 

Longfellow,  Ernest,  395,  396. 

Longfellow,  H.  W.,  reminiscences  of, 
by  W.  Winter,  308;  by  Mrs.  Fields, 
315;  by  F.  H.  Underwood,  350;  by 
M.  D.  Conway,  351;  by  others,  343- 
350;  tributes  "to.  by  C.  C.  Everett, 
354;  by  O.  W.  Holmes,  359;  by  C.  E. 
Norton,  367;  by  H.  A.  Bright,  371; 
by  Austin  Dobson,  405 ;  visits  to,  337- 
343,  345,  348 ;  ancestry,  415. 

Longfellow,  Mrs.  H.  W.,  312,  314. 

Longfellow,  William,  415. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  416. 

Lossing,  B.  J.,  243. 

Louise,  Princess,  146,  347. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  43,  49,  61,  62,  73,  79,  87, 
94,  126,  154,  172,  246,  249,  208,  295, 
313 ;  Italian  verses  to,  79,  436 ;  let 
ters  to,  130,  154,  165,  246;  address 
by,  407. 

Loyson,  C.  (P6re  Hyacinthe),  126. 

Lugano,  111. 

Lukens,  H.  C.,  144. 


M. 

MACDONALD,  George,  193. 

'  Maiden  and  Weathercock,'  293. 

Marcou,  Jules,  letter  to,  283. 

Marmier,  Xavier,  215. 

Marsh,  G.  P.,  75. 

Marshall,  Mrs.  Emma,  44,  180,  251. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  9,  228. 

Martineau,  James,  73. 

Martins,  Charles,  56. 

Maxentius,  261. 

McLellan,  Isaac,  242. 

'  Michael  Angelo,'  182,  184,  185,  202, 

206,  207,  209. 
Michelet,  Jules,  168. 
Mill,  J.  S.,  225. 
Miller,  Joaquin,  192,  266. 
Milton,  autograph  of,  65. 
Minot's  Ledge,  visit  to,  169. 
Mistral,  Frederic,  135,  187. 
Moliere,  quoted,  276. 


446 


INDEX. 


Montagu,  Mrs.  Basil,  letter  from,  26. 

'  Monte  Cassino,'  219. 

Monti,  Luigi,  265,  298,  320. 

Montpellier,  France,  56. 

Moore,  Thomas.  401,  439. 

'Morituri   Salutamus,'  222,  224,  230, 

239,  357. 
Motley,  J.    L.,   55,   136,   241;    letters 

from,  21,  212. 
Motto,  'Non   clamor  sed  amor,'  405, 

440. 
Music,  94,  117,  259,  296. 


N. 

XAHANT,  96,  98,  136,  137.  164,  189, 

325. 

Naushon,  267. 
Neal,  John,  17,  96,  104. 
Neilson,  Adelaide,  294. 
"New  England  Tragedies,"  104,  111, 

112,  319. 

Nilsson,  Christine,  146,  147,  171. 
Nimwegen,  die  alte  Frau  von,  1. 
North  American  Review,  267,  273,  305. 
Norton,  Mrs.  Caroline,  52. 
Norton,  C.  E.,  61,  74,  82,  91,  101, 141, 

181,  188,  258,  367. 
Numbers,  mystery  of,  282. 


o. 

OLYMPIAN  mountains,  tradition  of,  70. 

'On  translating  Dante'  (sonnets),  81. 

Opera,  259,  295. 

Ossian,  196. 

Ovid,  231;  'Tristia'  translated,  170. 


P. 

PALFREY,  J.  G.,  63,  128,  263,  300. 

Palmer,  Kay,  251. 

'Pandora,'  229,  233,  240,  241. 

Paris,  113. 

Parsons,  T.  W.,  94,  320. 

'Paul  Revere's  Ride,'  278. 

Peirce,  Benjamin,  239,  277. 

Phelps,  E.  S.,  245,  266,  272. 

"Places,   Poems   of,"   242,    247,   250, 

265,  271,  272,  281,  335,  336. 
Plautus,  comedies  of,  133. 
Playfair,  Sir  Lyon,  264. 
Plumptre,  E.  H.,  289. 
Plutarch's  Lives,  262. 
Plymouth,  visit  to,  145. 
Poe,  E.  A.,  309;  letter  from,  13. 
Poems,  under  their  dates,  431. 
"  Poets  and  poetry  of  Europe,"  19,  134. 


'  Ponte  Vecchio,'  222,  224. 

Portland,  86,  302. 

Portsmouth,  visit  to,  160. 

Prescott,  W.  H.,60,  61,  62,  330;  letter 

from,  19. 

Price,  IJonamy,  218. 
Procter,  B.  W.,  letter  from,  391. 
'Psalm  of  Life,'  355,  362. 
Pulsx.ky,  Count  and  Countess,  33,  39. 


Q. 

QUINCY,  Josiah,  letter  from,  24. 


R. 

RABELAIS,  206,  207. 
Reboul,  Jacques,  39,  63,  134. 
Reed,  E.  J.,  122. 
'  Reformers  '  (fragment),  383. 
Renan,  Ernest,  238. 
Revere,  Paul,  157,  158,  237. 
Riddarholms  Church,  burning  of, 
'  River  Charles,  To  the,'  10. 
'Robert  Burns,'  291. 
Routledge,  George,  95. 
Ruskin,  John,  142,  331,  332. 


SAILLY,  Mine,  de,  10.  400. 

Salvini,  Tommaso,  212,  2U8,  300. 

Saturday  Club,  149,  174. 

Schiller,  183,  195. 

Schoolcraft,  H.  R.,  letter  from,  45. 

Schurz,  Carl,  200. 

Senter,  William,  306. 

'  Sermon  of  St.  Francis,'  233. 

Sermoneta,  Duke  of,  303. 

SeVigne",  Mme  de,  253. 

Shelley,  P.  B.,  quoted,  288. 

'Sifting  of  Peter,'  293. 

Skepticism,  344. 

Sophocles,  E.  A.,  171,  183,  262. 

Sorrento,  115. 

Spanish  Academy,  268,  288. 

Spiritualism,  138^  229. 

Stanhope,  Earl,  110. 

Stanley,  A.  P.,  100,  275,  276. 

Steele,'  Sir  Richard,  214,  273. 

Sterling  (Maxwell).  Sir  William,  52. 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  344. 

St.  Gilgen.  279. 

Story,  William,  72,  94,  101,  267. 

Study  in  Craigie  House,  401. 

Sumner,  Charles,  12,  42,  87,  95,  09, 
123,  138,  170.  197,  200,  210,  211,  213, 
260,205.  320,' 398,  404;  letters  to,  16, 
17,  18,  20,  30,  33,  54,  60,  61,  63,  65, 


INDEX. 


447 


66,  67,  79,  89, 102,  129, 136, 146, 149, 
154,  156,  164,  210;  letters  from,  41, 
43,  47,  50,  51,  55,  58,  62. 

Sumner,  George,  320;  letter  from,  33. 

Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  52. 


T. 

TABLE  TALK,  372,  382. 

Tai  Handier,  Re'ne',  55,  57,  59. 

Taine,  Henri,  181. 

Taylor.  Bayard,  88, 174,  176,  279,  280, 

281,  326,  328. 
Taylor,  Tom,  134. 
Taylor,  Henry,  letter  from,  390. 
Tegner,  Esaias,  letter  from,  15. 
Tennyson.  Alfred,  53,  109,  250,  252, 

312,  340,  390. 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  49,  342,  344. 
Thaxter,  Mrs.  Celia,  253. 
'The  Iron  Pen,'  290. 
'  The  River  Rhone  '  (sonnet),  254. 
'The  Singers,'  297. 
'The  Windmill,'  294. 
Thiers,  Adolphe,  215. 
'  Thought  and  Speech  '  (fragment),  383. 
'Three  Friends  of  Mine,'  222. 
Ticknor,  George,  49;  letter  from,  9. 
Titjens,  Mme.  Theresa,  245. 
Tocqueville,  Alexis  de,  51.  133. 
'  To  the  Children  of  Cambridge,'  285. 
Tourge'nief,  160,  330. 
Translation,  326,  331. 
Translations,  list  of,  427. 
Travesties,  144. 
Trebutien,  G.  S.,  69. 
Tyndall,  John,  171,  194-196. 
'Twelfth-Night,'  384. 


u. 

"ULTIMA  TIIULE,"  294,  295,  297,  358. 
Underwood,  F.  H.,  170,  350. 

V. 

VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD,  play,  275. 
Villemain,  A.  ¥.,  327. 
'  Vittoria  Colonna,'  255. 
Vogelweide,  statue  to,  222,  223. 

W. 

WALPOLE,  Horace,  "  Letters  of,"  301. 

Ward,  Samuel,  18,  128,  139,  151,  159, 
205,  208,  230,  306. 

Warren,  William,  332. 

"Wayside  Inn,  Tales  of  a,"  201,  203, 
320. 

Webster,  Daniel,  268. 

Weiss,  John,  267. 

Wellesley  College,  241,  251. 

Westminster  Abbev,  407. 

Whewell,  William,  23. 

Whittier,  J.  G.,  233,  268,  273,  304. 

Wight,  Isle  of,  108-110. 

Willis,  N.  P.,  10. 

W7ilson,  Foreeythe,  84. 

Winter,  William,  243;  his  remini 
scences,  308. 

Winthrop,  R.  C-,  169,  176,  196,  197. 

Witte,  Karl,  188. 

Wyman,  Jeffries,  218. 

Y. 

YORK  Cathedral,  108. 

4  Yvette,  To  the  River,'  254. 


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